No Children
by fictorium
Summary: Cuddy has a new boyfriend, House has a problem and Wilson is grieving. As matters go from bad to worse, will they be able to help each other as they once did? Huddy, NOW COMPLETE!
1. Chapter 1

**Title**: No Children (part 1 of 16)  
**Author**: Lola Lauriestein  
**Rating**: PG13 to be on the safe side, R in later chapters  
**Pairing**: Cuddy/OMC, House/Cuddy, House, Cuddy, Wilson friendship.  
**Spoilers**: Everything up to Wilson's Heart, takes place not long after.  
**Disclaimer**: not-not-mine, House et al belong to David Shore, Fox etc. The song "No Children" is by The Mountain Goats, they are awesome and you should check them out.

**Summary:** Cuddy has a new boyfriend, House has a problem and Wilson is grieving. As matters go from bad to worse, will they be able to help each other as they once did? Friendships under strain and tough decisions ahoy

**"I hope that our few remaining friends give up on trying to save us."**

Had Cuddy not stopped mid-stride to check that she had her keys, the free-falling Magic Eight Ball would most likely have made contact with her head. There was no need to look up to confirm the origin; only one reckless doctor with an office overlooking the staff entrance would pull something like this. Unwilling to be later for her dinner date than she already was, she merely grumbled with dissatisfaction and continued on her way. For once, someone else would have to deal with the details, and House was not getting her attention through such juvenile methods.

On the fourth floor, Gregory House surveyed the smashed fragments of plastic with a dispassionate glare. It had been an accident; Cuddy's sudden appearance giving him cause for panic, only to return to numbness when he saw that the eight ball missed. To his surprise, she didn't even turn her head, not even for a dirty look. What he was really hoping for was for her to turn on her heel and march upstairs to lecture him about immature behavior. For the same reason, he had been especially rude and unpleasant to patients and staff, stolen supplies from all over the hospital, and signed her up to about 40 different porn mailing lists. All of his usual tricks and tactics had been to no avail: Lisa Cuddy was, quite simply, distracted. Typical that the one time her reign of terror and obsession over detail was relaxed was at the one time he found himself hankering for her company.

Cuddy broke more than one speed limit on her way to the restaurant – a charming little Italian restaurant that friends had recommended – one she hadn't gotten around to visiting in the year since it opened. With a perfunctory check of her lipstick in the rear-view mirror, she stepped out of her Lexus and took a deep, steadying breath. A few yards away was a man who liked her enough to stick around past the first date. In fact, this was the sixth and so far he had shown no signs of losing interest. His conversation was interesting, he wasn't threatened by her job, and he kissed her exactly the way she liked. And hell, he was Jewish, which had shut her mother up during Sunday's phone call of obligation. Why did she feel so apprehensive about a potentially wonderful evening with a handsome and charming professor who made her feel like the centre of the universe?

As she reflexively scanned the parking lot, realization dawned: this budding relationship hadn't been subjected to the evil interference of House. In fact, he hadn't made even one sarcastic comment during the times she'd seen him recently. It can't be that he missed the evidence; dates were written clearly in her planner as 'dinner with Zach'; there had been flowers delivered to her office. Perhaps he was too busy wreaking havoc elsewhere to notice. He certainly seemed to be causing more than his usual weekly legal calamity.

Cuddy felt her telltale pang of guilt as she thought about him, his misery more obvious than normal while his playmate grieved and performed only light duties at the hospital. She herself had nursed House through the relatively quick convalescence from his injuries, and as usual had tried to use it as an opportunity to sort out his life. House had been predictably resistant, and so she had given up on her attempts to save him, losing herself in the welcome distraction of a new boyfriend who did actually appreciate her.

Speaking of whom, she decided to enjoy the peace while it lasted and strolled inside for what promised to be the highlight of her day.

Zach kept her laughing and talking until the restaurant staff made their glares and noisy cleaning too blatant to ignore. Cuddy tripped the invitation back to her place from her tongue like the next logical sentence of the conversation. Zach willingly agreed, heading for her car as his was parked on campus, around the corner.

Before fastening their seatbelts, they shared a kiss far more passionate than their previous encounters, and Cuddy felt the start of the familiar butterflies in her stomach. It had yet to hit the heights of her previous romantic adventures, but for now it felt safe and welcoming, just what she needed to save her from the loneliness of her everyday life. Years ago, she had learned not to have expectations, and as she started the engine she smiled to herself about her pragmatic approach to everything, apparently including her sex life.

House sat on the curb, ignoring the twitching curtains from the ostentatious house opposite. If the residents were so worried about his buttocks enjoying a little sidewalk time, they could call the damn police, or knowing this neighborhood, their own elite vigilante squad.

The thin cardboard of the file clasped tightly in his left hand was crumpled and dog-eared already, despite his only collecting it from a terrified courier two hours before. It contained fairly damning evidence in a case he'd been puzzling over in private for the past month or so, confirmation of his worst fears: cancer. His first instinct had been the obvious, to consult with Wilson, but the oncologist had yet to resume full duties following Amber's death and House didn't want to risk their slowly healing friendship.

Instead, he found himself making the clearest bid yet to get Cuddy's waning attention, sitting on the curb outside her quiet little house, motorbike parked in one of her flawless flower beds. An hour had passed since his arrival, and a cursory glance at her day planner had mentioned only a dinner with Zach, who was either her nephew or some doomed first date with another loser.

It irritated him that tonight she didn't rush home to escape what would undoubtedly be a dull meal in a mediocre restaurant, especially since his pride was wounded by her borderline ignorance of him. Had House bothered with things like social niceties, he could simply have asked her for a chat, or called before showing up at her home. Unfortunately for all concerned, that simply wasn't how he rolled, but tonight was too important to let his awkwardness stop him getting what he needed.

The familiar purr of Cuddy's Lexus shook him from his haze of thought. As she drew closer, her trademark frown was painfully evident. Worse, some preppy-looking guy was filling her passenger seat, confusion apparent on his features. This was going to be just great, he sighed to himself.


	2. Chapter 2

No Children Chapter 2

No Children

Chapter 2

**"I hope we come up with a failsafe plot to piss off the dumb few that forgave us"**

"House? I thought you sent your patient home?"

Cuddy kept her voice light, but to House's trained ear, the minor chord of exasperation rang out. She was keeping things civil while she had company, but something in her expression said she wasn't entirely irritated to find him there. In fact, her eyes showed something that looked a lot like relief.

"Doesn't matter. I forgot you're working evenings this week, doesn't it get cold out there on your corner?"

Unsure whether to slap him or jump for joy at the sight of the monosyllabic wretch who had been shuffling around her hospital like Casper the Sulky Ghost, Cuddy opted for the briefest of introductions and motioned for House to hand her the file. If it wasn't for the patient he discharged today, he had most likely been stealing from other services again, meaning a fight to break up in the morning. Between the red wine and the prospect of refereeing another bout of House-wrestling, she felt the afternoon's headache sneaking up on her once more.

"Nah, it's not important. I'll leave you and Matt here to your evening. Just don't let her try the positions she got me into," he said gesturing with his cane and a grimace.

"It's Zach. And this lady can try just about anything she wants with me, but thanks for the warning." Zach was more than game for House's shenanigans, and Cuddy noted the grudging respect that flickered across the diagnostician's face.

Reverting to the sullen demeanor that he had worn like a cloak since his return to work, House yanked the helmet down over his head and began to wheel his bike out of her crushed flowers. He hesitated for a moment, apparently deciding whether to bother with a parting shot, and Cuddy realized his reluctance to mount the bike in front of them, displaying the full extent of his disability. She turned quickly towards her own front door and grabbed Zach's hand to ensure that he followed. Sure enough, before she turned the key in the lock, the engine revved into life, with a few bonus growls for her neighbors' benefit. With House dispatched for the night, Cuddy turned her attention to less stressful pursuits.

Lying in bed a while later, Cuddy could hear Zach churning over various thoughts about the strange man who had been waiting at her house like Moses in a reed basket. At the risk of sounding immodest, she had hoped her recent performance would clear thoughts of anything but her from his mind, but it was not to be.

"So this House fella, known him long?"

There it was, the oh-so-pleasant opening shot.

"Since college, on and off. His ex is a good friend of mine."

Way to go Cuddy, justifying your friendship by pointing out that House slept with other women. What an excellent tactic, she taunted herself.

"But you two aren't… I mean, I don't want to tread on any toes here."

"No, Zach, I'm not in the habit of stringing guys along. Um, shouldn't you have checked that before we, uh…?"

He cut off her cheeky question with a kiss, and Cuddy relaxed into it, ignoring the strange feeling in the pit of her stomach. Had she allowed herself to think more about it, she might just have recognized it as her favorite guilt and anxiety cocktail, but instead she pushed herself to focus on having a good time for once.

The next morning she dropped Zach on campus, declining his offer of a morning coffee as she visualized the work that was probably already piled on her desk. A couple of hours of signing her name until it was an unrecognizable scribble, then she would seek out House for an explanation about last night.

As she stepped into reception and headed for her office, the chirping of her cell rudely disrupted the early morning quiet. She smiled as the display showed 'Zach' and answered with a cheery "Miss me already?"

"Uh, Lisa, did you send me anything this morning?"

"No, I'm not even at my desk yet. What do you mean?"

"It's just that I got to my office and there are flowers with a card."

"Must be a secret admirer, Zach. Are you trying to make me jealous?"

Already her mind was turning to thoughts of next month's rosters to be approved. Whether to reschedule November's fundraiser, when her next hair appointment was.

"Well the card is kind of weird. It says, 'Will you be my baby daddy? Clock is ticking. Love, Lisa.'"

Cuddy almost choked on her own anger, counting her blessings that she hadn't had hot coffee in her mouth at the time. Murmuring hasty denials and apologies, she ended the call and collapsed into her desk chair, the furious flush in her cheeks only just beginning to recede. She had known it was too good to be true, obviously House had been toying with her, allowing her to get complacent. Now the interference and mortification attempts would begin in earnest. Placing a call to the booth in the parking lot, she knew her just-below-snarling tone would ensure that the terrified attendant would alert her to House's arrival before House even realized he was at the hospital. She was going to have her fight after all.

Some time after 10, the recalcitrant doctor ambled into her office, not bothering to knock as he pulled away from the security guard who escorted him to her lair. Cuddy had expected House to be triumphant, smug, or even annoyed at being hauled before the dragon lady. Yet the only emotions his face gave away were indifference and exhaustion. Disregarding the flurry of concern, she launched into the well-worn diatribe about respecting her privacy and how her personal life was none of his concern. The words barely seemed to register, never mind provoke a response, and as House sat there meekly ignoring his chastisement, Cuddy couldn't help but stop mid-rant to ask what was wrong.

"Something has to be wrong for me to mess with you? It's just a hobby."

"Messing with me I expect, I can deal with that. This zombie impersonation is a step too far. What the hell is wrong with you House?"

He shifted uneasily under the full force of her questioning stare. Instinctively reaching to rub his injured thigh, he lowered himself gingerly on to the arm of the sofa, unwilling to risk the embarrassment of not being able to get up from the overstuffed cushions.

"You've been ignoring me. I can't remember the last time you called me in here for a little spanking session. Why don't you chase me about clinic duty any more? It's always one of your least attractive nurses hounding me into hell every afternoon. Or is lover boy taking up all your time? "

Cuddy took a deep breath before responding, not wanting this to descend into another childish slinging match.

"So this is all about getting my attention? Sorry, not buying it. 51 weeks of the year you actively avoid catching my eye. Why the big fuss all of a sudden? If this is your twisted jealousy, you'd better stop it right now. Zach is…"

"Zach is my boyfriend. Zach is ever so dreamy. Zach invented the multiple orgasm. Blah blah blah. Zach is a mommy's boy who'll never stand up to you because he's too busy respecting you. Zach is boring and ordinary and everything you say you want in a man. Which is precisely why he's wrong for you."

Cuddy was seething by the time his little diatribe was done. Unable to continue without giving him yet more ammunition, she offered a simple command.

"Get. Out."

For once, he complied without argument, clearly as relieved to be gone as she was to see him leave. As the door clicked shut, she crossed the room to lock it behind him. On the return trip to her desk, she noticed the folded sheet of paper that had landed on her couch. Bending over the coffee table to retrieve it, she momentarily paused to pray that House hadn't lingered to enjoy the view. As she straightened, she unfolded the slightly ragged sheet and scanned its contents. A hand flew to her mouth as she absorbed the information in front of her. Plagued by indecision, she hesitated over whether to follow House and demand more information or whether to seek advice first. Opting for the safer route, she returned to her desk and dialed a familiar number.

"Dr Wilson, please. It's Dr Cuddy."


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

Chapter 3

"**I hope the fences we mended fall down beneath their own weight"**

"Lisa?"

"Hi James, I have to ask you something. It's a little delicate."

Cuddy heard the oncologist exhale heavily at the other end of the phone – everything was delicate for him these days. Less than two months had passed since Amber's death and Wilson was barely able to function beyond two days of administrative duties and board meetings each week. She's offered him extended leave, suggested places for him to get away from it all, but ultimately respected his attempts to cling on to what little of his normal life remained. Unfortunately his relationship with House was in serious disarray. Without their immature jokes and hurtful banter, they found it impossible to be around each other. Cuddy considered the piece of paper in her hand once more before plunging into the deep end. Surely this was too important for House not to have consulted one of the few people he confided in?

"This might be a little awkward, but has House been to see you? Not a consult as such, but maybe just some informal advice?"

"No, I, uh, we don't seem to spend much time together these days. I'm trying so hard not to… Well, we're not good company for each other."

Cuddy cursed silently at House's stubbornness. If he hadn't consulted Wilson, there was no way he'd trust something like this to another oncologist. Most likely he had been puzzling it on his own, not that his medical brain wasn't a formidable one, but specialists were called that for a reason. That left her in the unenviable position of being the only person privy to his fairly awful secret. She was left to ponder whether the paper had been dropped by accident on purpose. Either way, she couldn't magically erase the information from her mind; he was a friend in trouble and she was in this now.

Gathering her pager and jacket, she instructed her assistant to hold all calls for the next hour or so. If there was any good fortune in this situation, it was that she had the rarest of mornings, one without a single meeting. Not that it mattered. She would have cancelled tea with the Queen of England if House needed her to. Why didn't the stubborn ass realize that?

House searched the file for the tenth time, turning over every individual sheet and scanning it like a CSI hunting for molecules of evidence. With some discomfort, he raised himself to standing again and emptied out each of his pockets in turn. He had just poured the contents of his backpack onto his desk with a loud clatter when Cuddy appeared in the doorway, a small white square in her left hand. Her expression was neutral, the poker face she used for police officers and judges, giving nothing away.

"Looking for something, House?"

Her tone was soft, almost a drawl. House hung his head, the universe having clearly made the decision about telling Cuddy for him. Unable to look her in the eye, he mumbled an affirmation. For the first time since all this had started, he felt the tears stinging under his eyelids. He was damned if he would cry in front of her, have her running back to the boyfriend to discuss how weak and pathetic he was. He walked towards her, snatching the paper from her hand before settling himself into the armchair. A lesser woman would have taken offense at the aggressive body language, at his lack of communication. Cuddy, being Cuddy, simply settled herself on the footstool in front of him. It seemed he finally had her attention.

She watched him cautiously, unsure if he would ever meet her gaze. It had taken all of her strength to come in here and remain calm. Her first instinct was to cry, or to yell at him for hiding this from her all this time. As she made her rapid progress along the fourth floor corridor, she calmed herself. This was going to be horrible enough without her allowing histrionics to come into it. After all, hadn't House been trying to make her notice with his weird behavior all this time? The churning waves of guilt were building up in earnest as she realized she had neglected a friend in pursuit of getting laid. House wouldn't do exactly the same in her place, but it didn't make her feel any better.

"When were you going to tell me? This is a positive result on a stool DNA test. PCR markers confirm a cancer diagnosis."

"You weren't supposed to see that. There was no need to tell you, I'm doing what I do. I'm sure this Finnan guy screwed it up somehow. Just need to find the actual diagnosis and it'll all be fine."

His continued inability to look her in the eye told her all she needed to know, that he didn't believe what he was saying either.

"House, look at me. House!"

He turned to her reluctantly, the wet tracks under his eyes all too apparent in the glare of office lighting.

"I'm sorry I wasn't there for you. Your mom is sick, House, you have to tell me these things. I can be here for you now though. Give me the file, I'll make some calls. And you should consider speaking to Wilson."

House fixed her with a derisive stare, the tears doing nothing to dampen its effect.

"I know that your first instinct is to defer to actual doctors, but I don't want my private business all over this hospital. I won't take this to Wilson either, he hates me. Not to mention he's probably had enough death and suffering for a while. It's bad enough you have to know, but it doesn't go any further."

"You can't expect me to sit here and do nothing while you run yourself into the ground. I'm willing to bet you're not sleeping, and I don't even want to think about how much Vicodin and Scotch you're getting through. You need my help, House. I'll leave Wilson out of it for now, though I think you know I'm right about getting him in on this. Let me call around some other hospitals, check out some options for you. There are plenty of people who'll take my call when they wouldn't take yours."

As a test, she injected some of her usual snippiness into her last few words, getting the response she was hoping for. With a petulant sneer, he nodded towards the file on the desk; she could have it, but he wasn't going to do anything as helpful as giving it to her. Content in her small victory, Cuddy grabbed the chaotic pile of papers and began to pore over them as she stood.

"Can't you do that in your own office? You're really interfering with my nap time."

He stared at her defiantly, and Cuddy resigned herself to the fact that she had outstayed her welcome. Clearly the contents of these pages would be sufficient to provoke some kind of emotional response from her, and House had no intention of being on the receiving end of her pity. Accepting his dismissal with a wry smile, she left his office with good grace.

House watched her ass swaying as she walked away, pushing the door closed as soon as she was out of sight. He might have some things on his mind, but he was still a man after all. Settling back into his chair, he reached for the discarded copy of the Southern Medical Journal and resumed the article on colorectal cancer. As far as he was concerned, the smug little voice taunting him about how much better he felt for telling Cuddy could just shut the hell up. Bad enough it sounded almost exactly like Wilson.


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4

Chapter 4

"**I hope we hang on past the last exit. I hope it's already too late."**

Cuddy had skimmed the pile on her desk, quickly signing the few documents that absolutely couldn't wait. With a relatively clear conscience, she had a free afternoon to dedicate to Blythe House's case. She fervently wished that she would see something in this set of charts and test results that would fall in her own specialty. Having some bragging rights over House might be the only thing better than finding an alternative to cancer. Unfortunately, the endocrine culprits were among the easiest to rule out, and so she didn't hold out much hope.

Hours passed as she pored over the notes, pausing only to place a call to one doctor or another, or for the odd water and bathroom break. The knock on her door took her entirely by surprise as her assistant had packed up and left at least an hour beforehand. When Zach entered the room, she was pleased but surprised to see him. He greeted her with a kiss, and then tilted his head to take a look at the files that were spread out around her on the sofa. Before he could get a decent look, she swept the multiple papers into a neat bundle.

"Zach, confidentiality!"

"Oh come on Lisa, who am I going to tell? I'm a law professor. Only half of the Latin makes sense to me."

"Not the point, and you know it! What are you doing here anyway?"

Too late to bite back the irritation in her voice; she hadn't meant to snap at him. It was nice that he was here the evening after they had slept together. Plenty of guys would still be trying to maintain a little distance, playing it cool.

"I did mention this morning about going for that drink with my friends from Montclair, right?" The hurt on his face compounded her misery; she had completely forgotten their conversation in the car.

"Zach, I'm so sorry it slipped my mind. It's been one of those days, and to top it all off I have a case of my own now."

It didn't take the man with a PhD too long to work out that she'd made no offer to resume their plans. In fact, she was pretty much putting herself off limits for the evening and possibly beyond. This was generally the point where previously self-assured and understanding men started bitching about how her job was more important than the man she was dating. Not that the comment was unfair. It had been almost exclusively true.

"Want me to keep you company while you work? I could get us some takeout and see the guys another time?"

Cuddy smiled at the sweetness of his offer, but declined as her already waning concentration wouldn't stand up to a guy clearly intent on an encore of the previous evening. He left her with another lingering kiss that tested her resolve. But before she could waver, he was gone, only the faint scent of his cologne proving that he had been there at all. It was really quite pleasant to have someone around who really wanted to spend time with her.

When her hunger became a distraction, she gathered up her purse and the file, intent on grabbing some Chinese before heading home. She made it as far as the clinic entrance before she saw House's limping frame heading towards her. The glimmer of hope in his eyes was quickly extinguished when she could offer him no more than a weak smile.

She expected her offer of takeout and company to be dismissed out of hand, but felt better about her lack of progress with the case when he shrugged and followed her to the parking lot.

"I'm gonna stop off at the Peking Palace on my way home. You can wait for me, but do not break into my house again, ok?"

House gave her his best naughty schoolboy face and protested his innocent intentions. As she turned to her car, he caught her by the elbow, causing her to gasp at the unexpected contact.

"Can I ride with you? My bike and my thigh are having a slight difference of opinion."

God, Cuddy thought, for House to admit an actual weakness was like a lunar eclipse – as rare as it was quietly spectacular. He had a way of asking that shot straight through her heart, though she knew well that the physical ache was merely her imagination in overdrive. She unlocked the doors and nodded her agreement, as though him riding in her car was an everyday occurrence.

Aside from mocking her about her expensive car and apparently questionable habit of ordering only vegetables, the ride home was mostly uneventful. He didn't ask about her progress with his mother's diagnosis, and she refused to crush him with her failure thus far.

He seemed different inside her house, and commented himself that it was weird to be there with permission. Her dining table was out of commission, and so they settled for balancing plates on their laps as they relaxed on her sofa. Eating in companionable silence, Cuddy tried to remember the last time they had seen each other socially. The meals she had cooked for him during his convalescence didn't count, and she feared it might have been the poker night when he finally "saved" Esther. She made a mental note to call Zach before she went to bed, not wanting to get into the habit of disappointing him so early on.

It didn't take a psychic to know that House would make no move to help with the washing up. He did, however, help himself to a large glass of the single malt she had been saving.

"So," she began, as they settled once more on the cushions, this time House elected to join her on the large sofa by the window.

"So what? You spent the day learning all those big medical words and couldn't find anything to do with them?" His snark was milder than usual, but welcome as a sign of normality.

"So your mom has some pretty serious stuff going on. If you don't mind me asking, why did she take so long to get it checked out?"

He swirled the remainder of his drink in the heavy glass, apparently fascinated by the light reflecting in the amber liquid.

"She didn't want to worry me. She figured it was hemorrhoids, or some other side effect of getting old. It was only when the pain got close to unbearable that she went to her doctor, and he told her to call me. I've had him run tests, and he referred her to this Finnan quack. If I can just work out what they're missing…It's hard to think straight."

She eased the whisky from his long fingers, relegating the glass to the floor.

"That can't be helping. Not to mention the fact that there are reasons why they don't let us consult for family members. Give yourself a break already."

Something remotely resembling gratitude flashed across his face as he leaned back into the overabundance of cushions. Scratching his fingers gently across his stubble, he turned to look at her, warmth in his eyes for the first time in weeks. It struck Cuddy how young he looked there in the soft yellow light of her living room. The tiredness was etched into every line of his face, but when he finally relaxed some of the tension in his muscles, all she could see was the boy terrified of losing his mother. Another pang surged through her chest and she searched desperately for something to say. Before she could conjure up a decent platitude, House broke their easy silence.

"I need you to do something for me. I need you to tell me the prognosis. Some stupid thing in my brain won't let me read that last page. I can guess; I know it's bad, but I need someone to break it to me. You're the only person I can cope with listening to right now."

Cuddy felt her mouth go dry with sheer panic. After all the time and energy he had spent worrying over this, he was in denial, refusing to accept the situation. That's why he was killing himself trying to find an alternative diagnosis - he couldn't cope with this one. Each one of those increasingly bleak pages had imprinted itself on Cuddy's memory, and the words from the last page, the attending's prognosis, were dancing around her brain in garish neon. How many death sentences had she passed out over the years? Why should this one be any more difficult? A simple statement of facts and a comforting gesture was all that was required. Unable to deny his request, she went ahead, feeling her heart break a little more with every word.

"The colonoscopy and biopsy confirmed that it's Stage 3C. It's spread too far to be sure of getting it all out. Dr. Finnan is recommending chemo and palliative care. His surgeon has signed off on that, believes the tumor is inoperable. They've given her about three months. I couldn't find anything in the case notes to suggest anything different."

"I'm so sorry, House."

As she finished, the first sob escaped from his throat and she grabbed him instinctively. Pressing his body to her own, she gently stroked his arm and placed a gentle kiss on the top of his head as he cried. Her lips brushed the slight parting in his hair caused by his scar, and she willed herself not to cry along with him, failing almost immediately.

After a time - it could have been 10 minutes or 40 - House withdrew from her embrace and righted his position on the sofa. As he rearranged his practiced indifference, he allowed one last moment of vulnerability.

"Thank you."

His gaze was piercing, even from red-rimmed eyes. Her initial worry that he would hold this moment against her, blame her somewhere down the line for what was about to happen, evaporated. In that moment, she was almost grateful that he had shared this with her, let her help him.

None of which explained why she kissed him.

In fact, there was no explanation for kissing House, but Cuddy was operating on pure gut feeling. Instinctively she pressed her fingers to his damp cheeks, her lips seeking his with quiet desperation. She wanted to kiss away the pain he was feeling, make him realize he wasn't alone. Anything in a vain attempt to comfort him.

There could be no misunderstanding about the way he kissed her back, claiming her mouth with a patent ferocity. He tasted of warm Scotch and coriander, the gentle pressure of his tongue against her own making Cuddy's head spin. In the numerous years since their night together, she had forgotten how soft his lips were, the insistence of his kissing and the way it left her breathless. Entirely carried away, she lowered her hands to the buttons of his shirt, intent on fucking him right there on her couch.

That proved a step too far for House's incredibly confused brain, and he pulled away from her as though stung. Arousal mixed with pain as he stared at her, mouth open in half-hearted protest.

"I knew he wasn't doing it for you in the sack. Had to jump the first vulnerable cripple you came across, huh?"

Cuddy blushed furiously. For the last few seconds she had completely forgotten about Zach. Was it really so long ago that she had been planning to call him and flirt outrageously? Here she was taking advantage of a devastated friend, never mind the complication of him being an employee, all because she couldn't think of the right words to say? The feeling that she would have done it anyway, damaged or not, was one she fought to suppress as she tried to excuse herself.

"House, I'm sorry. I was just trying to…."

"Give me a hard-on in the hope I'd forget everything else? Well, you only half-succeeded Cuddy."

Before they could continue their incredibly awkward argument, his cell phone invaded the room with its shrill ring. With a few muttered words on his end, the call was over, and without so much as another glance at Cuddy, he took his cane and walked out of her living room. The slamming of her front door was enough to jolt fresh tears from her eyes.


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5

Chapter 5

"**I hope the junkyard a few blocks from here someday burns down**

**And I hope the rising black smoke carries me far away**

**And I never come back to this town."**

Cuddy tried his home number and cell phone for the tenth time in quick succession but irritating recorded messages were the only responses she got.

The email from Zach glared at her accusingly from her inbox, seemingly fluorescent among the dozens of circulars and whining missives from heads of departments. One head of department was conspicuous by his absence. Even House wouldn't push his late arrival until lunchtime. The need to rectify the embarrassment of last night had pushed Cuddy into full-on panic mode, and her next course of action was a midday ride to his apartment to checks on him. Either he was using their moment of madness to completely undermine her authority or, worse still, she had genuinely hurt him further at the worst possible time. Cuddy was beginning to understand why Stacy had looked so nervous in those last few months. The smoking habit was starting to look like an attractive distraction.

The unfamiliar area code on her cell display confused her momentarily, but she answered it with a hope bordering on desperation. Her knees almost gave out with relief at the sound of his voice.

"Cuddy?"

"House, thank God, where the hell are you? I've been trying to reach you all morning!"

His silence was calculated. She could imagine him choosing between the various levels of cutting for his reply.

"Another booty call, huh? Well, you're shit out of luck, oh Dean of mine, because your latest victim is currently in the wilds of Connecticut."

Filing away the explanation for the 860 area code, Cuddy pressed him for a reason.

"My dad called last night, seems things have gone from worrying to hopeless pretty fast. The exploratory surgery, well there's been some complications. Her lungs are failing. He told me to come say goodbye. So, if you hear about any warrants out for the guy doing 110 up I-95, keep the cops off my tail okay?"

"God, I'm sorry, House. I seem to keep saying that, don't I? Take whatever time you need, Foreman can keep your team in line. Maybe you can still have some time together, make the most of it."

"Oh Cuddy, what would I do without you reminding me how to be human? Tin Man signing out." With an abrupt click, he was gone.

Cuddy allowed herself a wobbly moment of relief and sadness, a shaky breath sufficient to steady her nerves. Her Blackberry had the agenda for the fundraising meeting on its screen, a meeting she was now at least ten minutes late for. Scurrying from her office, she kept the document open on its bright little display, unwilling to return to her inbox and the damn email she knew was awaiting her there.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

House surveyed the landscape common to most of his recent memories of his parents. Since his dad's retirement, they had settled across the water from his last base, trading Groton for New London, the other side of the Thames. He wished he could conjure up a comforting childhood memory from this place, but those years had been spent in Japan, Egypt and on the original River Thames. He'd looked in on his mother repeatedly through the night, shrugging off the exhaustion of a three-hour drive, watching her fitfully sleep as her breathing labored under an oxygen mask. She'd been transferred back to her private room to "rest" as she put it. He'd have given back every solved puzzle and arcane medical fact in his brain to be unaware that she meant being made comfortable in order to die, and tried to avoid listing the progressive development of what would surely be her final hours.

He ate a tasteless breakfast of cold toast in the hospital's cafeteria, staring out at the Swordfish class submarine in the bay. American flags fluttered in the morning breeze, over the base and in every garden as far as the eye could see. House wondered if he should be feeling patriotic at the sight. Instead, he was only aware of something approaching resentment for the job and the lifestyle that had left him so rootless. Mostly he worried that his mother had been unhappy, stuck with the obligations of a Marine's wife and a mother. Ironic enough that his parents finally had a permanent home but scarcely enough years to appreciate it.

At the heavy steps behind him, he turned to see his father's increasingly shrunken form. Where once there had been height and the bulk of muscle there was simply an old man, albeit one with perfect posture and a fierce expression. Unconsciously, he straightened despite the pain in his leg and resisted the urge to salute. They regarded each other warily, permanent combatants in a necessary armistice of consideration for the sick woman along the corridor.

"She's awake, asking for you."

Never a pair to waste words, House took his instructions with a nod and made fairly brisk progress along the hall. Hesitating at the door, his father's brusque cough propelled him forward into the sterile room. The disinfectant and musty smells of a hospital were better known to him than those of his own apartment, and yet he found his stomach churning, much like the nausea of his first days as an intern.

Easing himself carefully into the uncomfortable plastic chair by his mother's bed, he reached for her hand with unaccustomed tenderness. The same hand that had smoothed his unruly curls, checked his forehead for fevers and occasionally dished out a well-deserved slap felt cool and clammy in his own. He caught her eye, noting the glassy quality provided by the post-operative fever that was causing her such trouble. House did his best to conjure a confident smile as she reached weakly for the oxygen mask with her free hand.

"Greg, I'm so glad you're here. You didn't threaten any of the doctors, did you? Remember these ones know how to fight."

Her voice was barely above a whisper, but the warmth and humor that had been the touchstone of his life was still present in the gravest of times. How he wished that he could have one of his wacky life-saving ideas, but nothing could be coaxed from his exhausted gray matter.

"I know I don't have much time. I want you to promise me that you'll make peace with your father. I've never asked you to put up with it before, but you only have each other now. I just wish I wasn't leaving you alone, Greg. I wanted so badly to see you happy again after Stacy," she said wistfully.

House succeeded in not wincing at the mention of his most recent heartbreak, but it was a close-run fight. Hearing the sadness in his mother's voice, he decided to take one last risk on her behalf, and for the first time in forty years he lied to her.

"I've met someone, Mom. It's still early, but I'm happy again. She's totally hot, too."

His mother smiled from behind the mist on her plastic mask, and indicated with lifted eyebrows that he wasn't getting away with so little detail.

"It's been a secret, because of work. I don't suppose you remember Dr. Cuddy? Lisa? Ok, the smirk I see now tells me that there's nothing wrong with your memory. Well, anyway, things have been happening and I feel really good about it. So don't you worry about me."

It had been surprisingly easy, almost not like a lie at all. Perhaps because his words had been infused with the memory of last night's unexpected and frankly mind-boggling kiss. As angry as he had been last night, it was an unexpected comfort to have that one happy memory to hold on to in the face of one of his toughest days, not that he planned on ever mentioning it again. Well, not unless he needed some serious bargaining room with Cuddy. His dad had apparently been hovering in the doorway, and joined them as the doctors returned for another series of checks, going through the appropriate motions. Watching for the signs of consciousness fading, House remembered what he went there to say.

"I love you, mom."

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Cuddy had managed a whole day without locking herself in the bathroom and crying. A perfect fool she might be, but she had always been a professional one. She had interviewed for the Head of Pediatrics vacancy, met with the trustees about the new memorial fountain and authorized enough expenditure to fund a small Third World country. She discovered that the biggest downside to excelling in her job was the ability to let her mind wander, and House had certainly been doing a lot of virtual wandering in hers since she heard her door slam the previous evening.

The only way to deal with her current predicament was to ignore it. With House stuck in Connecticut, she was free to do whatever she damn well pleased. Which meant offering Zach a warm reply and getting her life back on track. He would cook dinner at his place tonight, and she would be the sort of adorable girlfriend that he was looking for. By the time she had to face House again, she would be completely secure in her relationship and her life, able to help him without crossing any lines. Clearly the sensible course of action was to pretend last night hadn't happened, which removed any need to tell Zach about it. Wasn't that exactly the sort of clear thinking that they were paying her the big bucks for?

His apartment made the sort of striking first impression that caused people to whistle through their teeth. Being a practicing attorney had apparently been lucrative, and he wasn't selling off the silver to make ends meet in his academic career either. Zach had neat and classic tastes, and his bookshelves contained at least a hundred titles Cuddy was instantly intrigued by. She sipped wine from an elegant glass, nervously smoothing the fabric of the floaty purple dress she had picked out for the evening.

His kitchen was vast, all chrome and dark wood with more bits and pieces than even a professional chef would need. She perched on the stool he had offered and watched him prepare their meal, lost in the whirl of ingredients that he threw around with consummate ease. For the overworked head of a hospital who lived on store-bought salads and ready meals, it was quite literally a mouth-watering proposition. As he chopped and seared various brightly colored vegetables, Zach regaled Cuddy with stories of his new freshmen students, their half-baked arguments and willingness to challenge him before they knew even a fraction of the law they needed.

Cuddy recognized a number of the faculty names he dropped from her own constant rotation of fundraisers and board meetings. As she watched his animated face, she realized that for once she had stumbled across a man who not only inhabited her world but who belonged there. Had she really found the kind of man that she had been complaining didn't exist?

They sat together for a delicious meal, the candelight seemed a little much at first, but she soon adjusted to the romance of the idea. Cuddy was effusive in her praise for the food, and before long they were retiring to a more comfortable setting.

As he joined her on the sofa, she pushed away the sudden flashback. Her nerves returned as she fiddled with the hem of her dress, and when Zach first kissed her, she found herself unable to relax. The mood was spoiled further by the unexpected shriek of her cell phone, and she excused herself to answer it, apologizing that the Dean was always on call.

In her haste to apologize before taking the call, she neglected to check the caller ID. The quiet that greeted her made her wish she could bite back her abrupt hello. Was it possible that she recognized his breathing, or was it simply deduction taking over?

"House?"

"Yeah. She's uh…she's gone."

"Shit, I'm so, so sorry. Is there anything I can do?"

"Nah, we can take care of it. Just thought I should let you know."

"Well, you know where I am, okay?"

"Yeah."

He hung up without a goodbye, and she figured that was probably a word he'd had enough of for one day. As she stood in the light and airy hallway, returning to the living room and Zach suddenly seemed like entirely the wrong idea. Cuddy knew what she felt like doing, but wasn't sure she should. The downside of being the boss was knowing when a firm decision was called for; she took a deep breath, squared her shoulders and decided to follow her feelings, let someone else worry about the practicalities for a change.


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter 6

Chapter 6

"In my life, I hope I lie and tell everyone you were a good wife"

Zach made no attempt to hide his displeasure when she informed him of her new plan.

"Jesus, Lisa. One minute you can't miss an hour for dinner because the hospital will crumble without you, the next you're skipping off to Connecticut for God knows how long."

"It's not indefinite Zach, just for the funeral. He's one of my oldest friends and he doesn't have anyone else right now," Cuddy explained in her most pacifying tone, but couldn't contain her mild irritation at once again being in a position where she had to explain her every move. She felt her eyebrow begin to arch, a sure sign that she was getting annoyed. Forcing herself to calm down, knowing it was most likely her own guilt about leaving that was putting her on the defensive.

His eyes narrowed at the 'oldest friend' comment, and she resisted the panicked urge to emphasize the platonic nature of it all. The last thing she needed was to screw this up permanently. As soon as she's made sure House was alright, she'd be able to get back into focus. After all, it was really just damage prevention for the hospital, making sure he wouldn't act outrageously because of grief.

"If you're going to drive up there tomorrow, can't you at least stay with me tonight? I thought it was the guy who was supposed to get twitchy after you finally sleep together."

It was impossible to ignore the wheedling note in Zach's voice, it was so important to him that she stay. Nor could she ignore the accusation that she was ready to run now that she had gotten him into bed. Cuddy repressed her natural inclination for a bitchy retort and stuck to keeping the peace.

"I'm not twitchy, really I'm not. I'm having a lot of fun with you. It's just that sometimes stuff happens which means I can't give you my whole attention. I need to sort out a lot tonight before I can go anywhere. This isn't something that happens everyday, but I feel very strongly that I have to do this."

Zach relented at last, taking her in his arms and kissing her possessively.

"I'm not some jealous idiot, but can you blame me for assuming every guy is just waiting to steal you away from me? Have you seen yourself?"

She laughed at his compliment, blushing furiously.

"I get that you have some guilt issues here, from what you told me about his leg. I'm happy to hang around while you get your life in order. Just don't neglect me altogether, huh? Now go get in your status symbol car and fix the world. I'll be here when you get back." He gave her a parting smile which made her feel that twinge of guilt sharply than ever; she had thought she would feel better for going with his blessing.

Cuddy gathered her purse and coat gratefully, shaking her head at the miracle of having found a genuinely understanding guy. It was a pleasant change to receive compliments instead of insults, though she'd deny being so easily flattered. When she sorted all this out, she vowed that she would really give this relationship the attention it deserved.

By 10 the next morning, she was on the road, sunglasses in place to hide the effects of her sleepless night and shield her from the weakening September sunlight. The deputy administrator had almost keeled over from shock when she announced her impromptu leave, he was used to having nothing to do except for covering her reluctant two weeks of vacation every year. Cuddy presented the ageing doctor with a plan of action so thorough that he could have invaded a country, never mind simply kept a couple of donors happy for a day or two. The gossip mill was in overdrive before she cleared the doors of the clinic, and it wouldn't take long for the nurses to note the additional absence of one Dr. Greg House. Let them spin their rumors, she thought, they'll feel guilty when they realize he's been mourning rather than on a dirty weekend away. She called Foreman from the parking lot, unwilling to see the little general's reaction to being handed at least another week in charge. Duties done, she slipped into her car and settled for the long drive ahead.

Cuddy was glad she had shelled out for such a comfortable car. After the first hour she was starting to feel the creeping signs of boredom. Nothing on the radio held her interest, and there was no time to enjoy the scenery for a careful driver like her. It occurred to her about 90 minutes out of Princeton that she hadn't bothered to tell House she was coming. She had simply taken his parents' address from his file and set out without a second thought. She toyed with the idea of calling him, but was oddly reluctant to risk that he would tell her to turn around and leave them alone. Her SatNav seemed to know exactly where she was going, though; the big gray space next to her destination confirmed her suspicion that it was indeed close to some sort of military base.

She wished she could remember more about his parents, but it was difficult to recall a lot from the two brief chats on their occasional visits to the hospital. They had seemed perfectly pleasant, and the visits had formed some of the rare moments when she had seen House on his best behavior. On the most recent one, she had recognized the familiar nudging and whispering he received from his mother as Cuddy had walked away, a favorite tactic of her own mother. No doubt Blythe had wanted to see her son happy. It couldn't have been easy to see him in such pain. Briefly, she wondered what they had thought of Stacy, if she had been a welcome addition to the family, or if they were the kind to leave partners as outsiders. Perhaps this trip would allow her to get to the bottom of House's extreme awkwardness around his parents; they seemed like such decent people. It would hardly be a shock to find out that House was just being contrary.

Arriving in New London, she felt nothing at the ordinariness of it all. She could see ships and what must be a submarine in the bay, and made her way slowly through side streets towards her destination. Realizing she couldn't just appear at the door, she reached nervously for her phone and dialed his number from memory. Getting no answer, she searched her call history for the 860 number he had last called her from, hoping it was the house and not the hospital. She was rewarded by his father's gruff voice, and asked for Greg, wondering if she should have stuck with Gregory. Carefully, she offered her condolences which were gracefully accepted. After a small eternity, she heard the telltale thump of his cane as he approached the phone.

"House?"

"Cuddy, I'm fine. You don't need to call every day to make sure we've ordered the right sandwiches for the mourners."

"No, it's not that. I'm sort of… Well what I'm trying to say is that I'm right outside of your house."

"I have an apartment, Cuddy, and unless you're planning to break in and steal my underwear, I don't see what that has to do with anything."

"No, not your place. Your parents' house."

He cursed quietly and hung up, leaving her slightly perplexed. Was he just going to ignore her arrival?

She was relieved to see the door of number 19 open a few moments later, the scowling face she had worried about staring at her from across the street. Cuddy almost leapt out of the car in her rush to hug him, meeting him halfway down the garden path.

"Jesus, woman, I need those ribs. They're holding some pretty important organs in place." Though he tried his best to sound angry with her, there was no mistaking the relief in his voice, or the fact that he held her just as tightly in return.

"Shut up," she snapped back through her tears. It felt unreasonably good to be able to touch him again, and reassure herself that he was still there; that she could get him through this. Although he bitched and moaned about his family, she knew how much he loved his mother, and even curmudgeonly House wouldn't get through this unscathed. At his little cough of impatience, she finally released him from her vise-like grip.

"Not that I don't appreciate the interstate booty call, but I have a funeral to organize, and you have a building full of useless underlings to terrorize."

"I came here to support you, you ungrateful ass. I went through this with my dad, but I had my sisters to pick up the slack. There's a lot to get done, and let's face it, you're pretty lazy."

He scowled harder at her character assassination, though he knew its accuracy as well as she did. With a sigh that she interpreted as acceptance, he indicated that she should get her bags from the car.

"We'll discuss later why you drove halfway through New England to help me pick out floral arrangements. I'll just try to be grateful that you didn't bring Cameron and give her the chance to make puppy eyes at me. For now, just keep quiet while I deal with my father, ok? I'll get you away from him and into the guest room as soon as I can."

Cuddy didn't question his slightly strange request, but did manage to smack his arm as he rolled her eyes at her luggage. Apparently, House never needed more than a backpack and a bottle of Vicodin.

As they stepped over the threshold, it struck her how surreal her actions had been. Not only had she showed up unannounced at a house in mourning, but she had handed over her hospital to a barely competent sexagenarian who wasn't sure if she was his boss or one of his daughters.

Panic set in and she whispered urgently to House, "I wasn't thinking. I can go get a hotel if you want me to stay around for a couple of days. I don't know what possessed me to just show up here."

He turned to look at her with exasperation.

"Nobody said you have to go, though you're making things a little awkward for me. Nothing I can't squirm my way out of though."

She didn't have a chance to protest further, as John House came to see what all the bashing around and whispering in the hallway was about.

"Son? You didn't tell me we were expecting company."

The appraising look was clearly a learned trait, and Cuddy felt her designer clothes and luggage subjected to a familiar scrutiny. Summoning her best donor-charming skills, Cuddy extended a hand to the widower.

"Colonel House, we spoke on the phone? I'm so sorry to intrude at such a difficult time. I just wanted to be here for Greg, and if there's anything at all I can do to help, just let me know. We were just discussing which hotel I should check into."

His expression was inscrutable, but after a moment he shook his head.

"Well, boy, I thought you were just lying to make your mother happy, taking the easy way out. Didn't think for a minute you'd actually done something about your damn misery. Ms. Cuddy, you're welcome to stay. We don't stand on ceremony here."

So confused was Cuddy by his remark that she didn't even feel the reflexive need to correct her title. Besides, if House referred to her as an administrator in such disparaging terms, how was anyone to know she wasn't a secretary?

As his dad left them to their awkward silence in the hall, Cuddy began gathering her belongings.

"Where's the damn guest room?"

"Language. And uh, I think the standing on ceremony comment means you're sleeping in my room. Don't…argue here. Just come to my room and I'll explain."

Grudgingly, Cuddy followed him to his bedroom, expecting a shrine to House the younger, replete with comic books and sporting pennants. She was shocked to see a fairly generic room that could have belonged to anyone. Only after a moment of staring open-mouthed did she remember that he hadn't grown up here. Didn't he wow everyone back in Michigan with tales of his exotic childhood?

Closing the door quietly behind her, she turned to him and silently demanded an explanation.

"I lied to my mom. She was going on about how she wished I was happy. Started talking about Stacy and leaving me alone, and I can't lie to her, you know that. But she was pretty out of it by that point, so I risked it. My dad was just outside so he must have overheard."

"I don't understand. You told them you were happy. What does that have to do with our sleeping arrangements?"

"This is why you suck at diagnostics. Can't get it for yourself, need everything spelled out, preferably in triplicate. I told her I was happy because of you, that we were doing the nasty," he punctuated his explanation with a blatant gaze at her low-cut red top, if nothing else it confirmed he wasn't beyond help.

"For your mother's sake, I hope you phrased it better than that."

His jaw wobbled slightly at Cuddy mentioning his mother, not yet ready for that particular reality.

"Your name just popped into my head, and I knew she liked you, though God knows why. I can tell my Dad the truth. He'll love having some new ammo to use on me."

Cuddy winced at the bitterness in his tone, comparing it with the slight malice of his father's earlier words. Knowing she would regret her compliance later, she offered nonetheless.

"No need. I can play along, if it makes all this a little easier. But the first time you grope me, all bets are off."

House attempted one of his infamous leers, but it fell short of his normal standards. Peeling his lanky frame from the bed he had been reclining on, he made to leave.

"Are you tired? The bathroom is next door, and then you can sleep off your drive if you want. I'll be in the dining room if you want anything. Still got a whole lot of inviting left to do."

Cuddy watched him leave, his limp more pronounced as his sneakers dragged against the thick pile of the carpet. For a moment, she felt compelled to hug him again, let him rest some of the weight of his grief on her. Unsure if she should risk too much unexpected affection, she held back. As the door closed with the softest of noises, she collapsed back on to the bed.

What the hell was she doing?


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter 7

"And I hope you die, I hope we both die"

The distant sounds of raised voices disturbed Cuddy's brief nap, and the slamming of a door jolted her fully awake. Utterly confused, she stared at the strange colors and furniture that surrounded her, trying desperately to identify her surroundings. As the fog of sleep finally cleared, she remembered where she was and why she was there. Setting out in search of the bathroom, she surveyed her reflection in the mirror with a rueful smile. The drive and lack of decent sleep had taken their toll, and she repaired the damage as best she could with the contents of her purse. Feeling presentable at last, she returned to the room and selected some fresh clothes, settling on black jeans and a white shirt. Most of what she had brought was too formal for an afternoon that would probably be spent making tea and helping House order flowers.

By the time she had wandered through the house and unearthed the dining room, the afternoon sky was beginning to darken. House didn't hear her approaching the room in her bare feet, and only when she rapped gently on the doorframe did he look up. The couple of hours that had rested her had taken an even greater toll on him, the presence of his reading glasses a sure sign that he was struggling with exhaustion.

"Coffee," she offered, more of a command than a question.

When in doubt, she chose to deal with his most urgent needs first: triage for the sleep-deprived and grieving. He looked grateful for a moment, before rising from his chair and grumbling that he'd do it since she didn't know where anything was.

She stopped him as he approached, her hand firm against the warmth of his cotton-clad chest.

"I'm a big girl, House, I can figure it out for myself. Where's your dad? I'll ask if he wants any."

She felt the reflexive tensing of his muscles under his hand, reminding her that the contact was unnecessary.

"He went out." His spiky manner invited no further questions, but seemed to explain the noise that had brought her back to consciousness.

Cuddy left him to his paperwork, padding through to the adjacent kitchen. This room was the homiest she had seen so far, not as neutral or as uncluttered as the other spaces she had been privy to. It was comforting to be somewhere that contained the presence of the departed Mrs House, and Cuddy supposed that while they had been accustomed to a life of travelling light for the constant moves, a good housewife would always make her mark in the most important room. With quick and easy exploration, she found the necessary equipment and coffee beans to get a pot brewing, and by the time she was pouring into two heavy mugs, House had appeared behind her.

He took the proffered mug with muttered thanks and slurped greedily at its caffeinated contents, jerking it back towards her for a refill before she even had a chance to sip at her own. Satisfied enough not to complain about her coffee-making skills, he attacked the second helping with a little more decorum.

"Hungry?"

Cuddy kept conversation to a minimum, she could practically hear him thinking from across the room and knew he would talk only when he felt like it. He shrugged as though food was nothing worth thinking about, but from his unusually pale skin and listless demeanor she could see that he was most likely surviving on the occasional candy bar.

Opening cupboards, she cobbled together enough for quick pasta dish, cooking had never been her strong point. She fixed her gaze on the boiling water, running through the formulaic way she knew how to make sauce. It was hardly cordon bleu, but it made her feel useful.

House watched her intently as she applied her usual precision to a simple meal. From her methodical approach it could easily have been a surgical procedure, not a wasted movement, everything laid out in advance of the next step. Her capability soothed him, but sent fresh reminders of his mom surging through him. How many meals had he scoffed his way through, not remembering to thank her before rushing off to lacrosse practice or sneaking out to drink warm beer that one of his friends had stolen? The stinging in his eyes made further crying a painful risk, but he knew what he really needed was sleep. Eye drops and caffeine could only do so much and he was rapidly approaching a state of running entirely on empty.

He was puzzled by Cuddy's presence, but had finally reached a level of exhaustion that wouldn't let him dissect and analyze it properly. Her leaving the hospital for more than an evening was a big freaking deal, not to mention the abandoned boyfriend and the kiss he had been sure meant nothing to her. Now here she was, making him food that smelled delicious, her casual clothes making her seem softer than she did at the office. It might be confusing, but it was also pretty damn welcome.

As he waited for her to dish up the food, his thoughts turned to his father, and the promise he had made his mother. How the hell was he supposed to fix things when every conversation turned into a row. The constant battle of wills exhausted even a consummate game player like him, and he had no earthly idea how to remove years of carefully maintained distance. For a fleeting moment, he wished it had been his dad to die first, it would have been easier to adjust to life without him. Hell, he'd rather his own miserable life had ended than waste the ten or twenty years his mother might still have had. He felt no remorse over thinking that way, except that he wouldn't have wished his death on his mother. Back when he'd almost died after the infarction, she had been inconsolable, muttering over and over at his bedside that a mother should never outlive her children.

They ate in silence, he couldn't find anything light to open conversation with and she seemed oddly content just to eat and make sure that he did too. As she gathered their dishes to wash, he turned and made his slow progress back to the dining room. He had scarcely settled back into his seat before she appeared in the doorway drying her hands on a dishcloth.

"Don't even think about it."

He looked up at her in surprise, what could he possibly have done wrong?

"You can't even see straight right now, get your ass to bed and get some sleep before I have to sedate you."

There was no mistaking her body language, it was absolutely an order, delivered in her best administrator-cum-dominatrix voice. Not that such a clear warning sign had ever deterred him from arguing before.

"Sleep is for the weak, Cuddy. There's a shitload of stuff to get through here, insurance, stuff for the attorney, the bank, you name it; the last thing I need is my dad getting on my case about not doing enough to help. He's running all over town playing the stoic widower, organizing the funeral all by himself."

With a huff of exasperation, she calmly walked over to the table and scooped the papers out from under him. His reflexes were too dulled from tiredness to stop her.

"Bed. Now."

The unguarded affection in her eyes tipped him over the edge and he finally relented. It felt strange to be heading off to bed and leaving Cuddy alone in this house, one he had never pictured her in. He supposed it was no different to when Stacy would get up hours before him on the rare weekends they spent here, reading the papers with his dad or cooking with his mom. The latest jolt of memories sent him reeling once more, and he wondered with gritted teeth when the sense of loss was going to stop assaulting him like this.

He paused in the doorway of 'his' bedroom, running his eyes over Cuddy's things, even in her brief time here she had unpacked her bags and organized her girly crap on the dresser. As he considered how his mother would have approved, he bent double with the force of missing her, the waves coming closer together now, unable to say anything about it. For a moment, he considered turning around and telling Cuddy what he had just been thinking, but was already angry with himself for exposing weaknesses left, right and center.

Beyond weary, he stripped to his boxers and eased himself into bed. Barely able to keep his eyes open for more than a second, he wondered briefly why he was able to sleep now when he had been exhausted for days and failed to rest at every attempt. As sleep claimed him, he felt the gentle tug of a smile on his lips as he noticed that the pillow he had buried his head in smelled just like Cuddy.

After retrieving her laptop from the car, Cuddy had attacked the necessary correspondence with her usual efficiency. All the relevant notifications were typed up and ready to print, she would pester House about a printer when he awoke rather than pry further in this strangely unwelcoming place. Having sorted the important documents from the general, she left a neat pile with a note for House or his father, whoever came across it first. She stretched gently as she stood by the oak sideboard that was filled with framed photographs. Free to be nosy for a moment, she smiled at House's telltale frown, apparent from pictures of him as baby. The shot from his graduation, she guessed Med School since she didn't recognize it as Michigan, reminded her of the silly crush she'd had on him in college. Save for that one night, years ago, just a day or so before he met Stacy and plunged in headfirst, she hadn't considered him that way. Or rather, every time she had there had been at least five good reasons to dismiss any such crazy notion.

As she finally stood in pursuit of a fresh pot of coffee, she heard the telltale sound of the front door opening. Seizing the initiative as usual, she went to greet the returning John House and offer him the same care she had provided for his son.

"Colonel?"

"You can call me John, the other one always did."

Cuddy tried not to wince at the blunt allusion to Stacy, but didn't try too hard as a little reflexive jealousy would be expected if she really were House's girlfriend.

"Greg's finally getting some sleep. Can I get you a coffee?"

To her amazement, she saw the gruff exterior slip at her simple question. House Senior looked every one of his seventy-odd years, and his gratitude at the offer of coffee seemed disproportionate. He followed her to the kitchen, his measured steps a few behind her own. In the expanse of the homely room he seemed lost, bewildered even. Cuddy considered how many times he must have spoken with his wife in this very room, and other rooms like it all over the world. They must have been married for something like fifty years, the sort of life she could barely comprehend. Outside of her family the only person she had known well for more than ten years was House.

She added the cream and sugar that he requested and a few moments later placed the mug of warm coffee in front of him, opting to lean back against the sink as she sipped from her own.

"Did you get everything done that you needed to? Greg sorted all the papers and he's going to print out the letters when he gets up. Is there anything I can do to help?"

John considered her offer, snapping back from his confused staring at the fittings of the kitchen.

"She loved this room so much. Always in here, whether there was anything to be doing or not." His voice was quiet, almost broken.

"This was our first real home, I dragged that woman from one end of the earth to another, and she never complained."

Cuddy offered him a comforting pat on the shoulder.

"She loved you, anyone could see that. I'm sure she was happier that you were together."

He looked at her with realization.

"I knew we had met before – you're his boss!"

It wasn't exactly disapproval, but she could feel it brewing.

"Not exactly. He answers to me, but he has tenure. Really his employment is regulated by the board. I uh…"

She flushed quickly, the heat rising in her cheeks like the steam from her coffee.

"None of my business, sweetheart. That boy in there never met a rule he couldn't sail right past. I'm gonna ask, and you don't have to answer, but how long have you two been…? It's just a shame he didn't tell his mother sooner."

This was tricky territory, she had to be careful not to be too elaborate or risk contradicting what little House might have said earlier in the day.

"A little while? We've known each other a long time."

Fathers were much easier to handle she reflected, they never wanted detail. Predictably, he seemed satisfied with her answer.

"Well, you're both adults. I just hope you don't walk out like the other one did. Five years we had her here for Thanksgiving or the Fourth, always talking weddings and babies with Blythe. Then when the going gets tough she's gone, says she can't take the misery anymore. Always surprised me, that, it's not like Greg was ever a ray of sunshine."

Cuddy could only conjure a wan smile, she had seem firsthand the effects of Stacy's desertion, but knew only too well the vitriol and spite that had filled the lawyer's days before she snapped. How could she explain that she'd already been through House lashing out, as his friend and the treating physician? She was still there after all, though not in the way this man in front of her understood it. It made her feel guilty all over again about poor, patient Zach, back in New Jersey waiting eagerly for her return. Distracted by thoughts of her actual boyfriend, she mounted a half-hearted defense of House.

"Your son is a good man. Sure, he can be a little rough around the edges, but he has a decent heart under it all."

John regarded her suspiciously, unsure if her defense was actually an attack on him or his parenting skills. He seemed about to challenge her, but with a weary shrug, he seemed to opt for a more pleasant avenue of conversation.

"There is one thing you could do, if it's not too big a trouble for you. I got everything sorted out for tomorrow, except for flowers. Janice at the flower shop said she'd pick out something appropriate, but Blythe never liked that woman and it just doesn't seem right somehow. I wouldn't know a tulip from a turnip, so if you could maybe pop down there, it's just on the next street over? I don't mean to impose."

Cuddy was grateful to be kept busy and accepted the new task gratefully. She confirmed the directions and prepared to set out, first stopping by the bedroom for shoes and to check that House had actually obeyed her order about resting.

As she fumbled with a pair of black flats, she saw his face crumpled against the pillow in the soft afternoon light and felt her heart rhythm alter ever so slightly. He looked innocent that way, the ravages of pain and misery not evident on his rested face. Unable to control the impulse, she pressed a soft kiss to his temple before heading out on her errand. Had she turned around again before leaving the room she would have seen his eyes flutter open in surprise. As it was, she remained oblivious and before she had cleared the front porch his snores had returned.


	8. Chapter 8

Chapter 8

Chapter 8

"**I hope I cut myself shaving tomorrow**

**I hope it bleeds all day long"**

James Wilson could do nothing to control the reflexive shudder that passed through him every time he approached the sliding doors of Princeton-Plainsboro. He'd told grieving families a thousand times that time healed all wounds, but his memories of Amber had lost none of their paralyzing sharpness in the months since her death. The only respite was in keeping himself busy. For entire minutes at a stretch, he could focus on something else, almost forget that he had held her in his arms and watched the life ebb away from her.

He steeled himself for the walk through the lobby, his resolve faltering as he saw Allison Cameron striding towards him. As much as her compassion and understanding had helped him during these dark weeks, it could also expose his raw emotions a little too easily, leaving him vulnerable at the worst possible times.

"Wilson! How are you?"

He made a face, but followed up with his best attempt at a friendly smile. He didn't trust himself to start talking until he knew what she was after.

"Do you know where House is? This is the third day he hasn't been in, and Foreman is pestering me in the ER again because the new fellows are ignoring him and playing foosball. I can't find Cuddy either. The nurses are saying she just marched out yesterday and didn't tell anyone when she'd be back."

She looked at him searchingly, her blonde hair scraped back in a ponytail - the more demanding role in the ER left her with less time for fussing over her appearance.

"I haven't spoken to him. Damn, does that mean Adler is in charge? It takes him a week just to return a phone call. We won't be able to get anything done around here."

Cameron looked at him quizzically; she had never had to worry about what happened without Cuddy during her fellowship. It seemed life was definitely more complicated when you had your own department to run. Wilson made to continue his stroll to the elevators but pulled up short.

"Wait a minute, day before yesterday, Cuddy called me asking if House had been to ask me for a consult, even though she knows we hardly see each other these days. You don't think one of them is ill, do you? Because I can't see anything short of death or dismemberment getting Cuddy out of this place. She's cancelled three out of her last four vacations, for God's sake. "

They stared at each other in shock for a moment, before Cameron decided to show off the skills she had honed under House.

"You take Cuddy's office, Wilson, and I'll take House's. If you flirt some information out of the clinic nurses, I'll have a crack at this Adler guy. Somewhere in this hospital we'll get our answer."

At that she turned on her heel and stalked off to the elevator, determined to begin her fourth floor treasure hunt. Wilson rubbed his hand through his hair, sighing at the prospect of what Cuddy would do to him for snooping. Then, with his first genuine grin in a long time, he felt the familiar thrill of being caught up in a scheme; he'd just have to make sure he didn't get caught.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Cuddy re-entered the room she was adamantly not referring to as "their" bedroom. Having taken her time over her appearance, she expected him to be ready by the time she was done with hair and makeup. To her frustration, he was sitting on the edge of the bed, without shoes, his tie strung out between his hands. Last night they had awkwardly shared that bed, their only contact coming at around 4am when he rolled over and wrapped an arm around her. As soon as the sun had risen, she had extricated herself from his loose grip and run a deep bath for herself.

Now the 10am service was looming on the near horizon and Cuddy didn't have to grow up in this family to know that a lack of punctuality would go down like a lead balloon. Grabbing the tie a little roughly from his hands, she briskly turned his collar up and began to fix it for him, hoping it would help to re-engage the autopilot he had been functioning on earlier.

House looked up at her with a baleful expression.

"Where did you learn to do that?" He asked with surprise.

"We wore ties with our school uniforms. Shut. Up. Plus, I have had boyfriends now and then."

House looked away again, the brief spark of interest extinguished by the "b" word.

She bent slightly, resting her hand on his good leg.

"House, I know that today isn't going to be easy, but we need to get moving, ok? Just get through the next hour or so and then you can be left alone as much as you want."

Grudgingly, he completed his routine of getting dressed, and they headed for the living room where the rest of the family had gathered. John House was in the company of his two brothers and four strapping nephews, all of whom were in military uniform, save for one in a light gray suit. He looked quite familiar, and Cuddy supposed he was the cousin who played football. At least one member of the family was in some kind of team, judging by the photos scattered around the house. His build certainly suggested that he did something pretty heavy duty for a living. Two older women sat primly on the sofa, aunts of his, she supposed, though she couldn't quite keep straight what family he had on each side. She knew from the flurry of phone calls the previous evening that some family members were going to meet them at the church.

He reached for her hand as they approached the waiting black cars, the rough, dry skin of his long fingers easily enveloping her own. There was an agitation coursing through his fingers, one she thought nothing of at first. When they waited at the church entrance for the coffin to be taken from the hearse, he almost broke her fingers with the sudden pressure in his hand. Cuddy was about to voice a rather pointed complaint when she saw what he was staring at and stopped.

The solid pine box was being lifted on to the shoulders of his father, uncles and cousins, and she realized his agony at not being able to pay that one final respect to his mother. It was strange; she was usually so preoccupied with all the things he could still get up to do that she almost forgot the very real limitations of his disability. Riding yet another wave of guilt, she tried to remind herself that she had done the right thing all those years ago, unable to look at him again as they slowly made their way to the pews.

Not a word passed between them at the church or the graveside. But after he took his turn to throw the symbolic handful of earth into the grave, his first action on returning to her side was to press his arm around her waist. For a moment, he buried his head in her thick curls, shielding the tears that were threatening to spill. All she could think to do in return was stroke his back in the hope that it might soothe him.

The hardest part of the day done with, she began to relax slightly as they made their slow and steady progress back to the car. They were riding alone, the numbers not dividing evenly and so they were the spare two in the smallest of the cars that the funeral home provided. As Cuddy eased herself into the backseat, she carefully smoothed out her simple black dress. She was pleased that she had looked her best for the occasion; the appreciative glances from male members of the congregation had been as flattering as they were inappropriate. Still, if it meant House felt a little less awkward around his family by having a token girlfriend on his arm, then she was happy to do it.

A sudden thump on the roof of the car startled her, and after a moment she realized it must be House's hand that had made it. Swearing quietly, he at last lowered himself into the seat next to her, barking a sharp "go" at the patiently waiting driver. She expected more of the silent treatment, but when she risked a quick look at him, she was shocked to be caught in the iciest of his blue glares.

"Why the hell are you here, Cuddy? Sleeping in my bed, letting me take your hand, screwing with me. I must have been pretty out of it to let you bring your pity parade up here. I don't need you, not for this or anything else, and I don't know why you came here uninvited. I'll drop you back at the house then you can get your things and go back to Princeton."

The venom in his voice hit her harder than any punch ever could. Just as she thought she was getting through to him, helping him in some small way, he turned on her. Maybe he was embarrassed at how vulnerable he had been, but what had she said or done to make him think she would take advantage of that? Well, apart from one harmless kiss…

"House, I know that you're upset. You don't have to lash out at me."

She was calm and conciliatory, sure that whatever he said was caused by his strained emotional state.

"Well, you shouldn't have come here. Trying to make your real boyfriend jealous? Or just hoping you could find some leverage to use over me next time I refuse to do clinic duty?"

She slapped him, purely out of reflex. He didn't even flinch, such was his rage.

"Is that what you think of me? That I'm some kind of cold bitch who would use death to get an advantage?"

He shrugged off her complaint, instructing the driver to take them back to his parents' house rather than the post-funeral lunch at the VFW hall.

"I'll wait for you to pack, and lock up after you. I'll be back at the hospital when I feel like it."

Cuddy was set to simmer, her hurt and anger bubbling merrily under the surface. She was determined not to rise to the bait any further. She would be the mature one who made allowances for his grief. He would slink into her office in a few days with a non-apology and a crack about her cleavage and they'd recover much as they ever did. Ignoring him, she stared out of the window until the short journey ended, absent-mindedly running her thumb over the fingers that stung from hitting him.

They arrived at the house and Cuddy strode towards the door, showing no patience for his slower progress. Tapping her foot impatiently, she burst through the door as soon as he unlocked it and barreled into the bedroom, throwing her things roughly into bags without care for how they landed.

How dare he accuse her of something so horrible? Why couldn't he take her compassion at face value? Stubborn bastard, so ready to believe the worst in people that he couldn't accept friendship when it was offered. No wonder Wilson had finally had enough; nothing you could give him was ever enough. She'd made every concession for the extenuating circumstances, but sometimes it just boiled down to the fact that House was a selfish prick.

He watched impassively from the porch as she bundled her possessions into the trunk of the car, made no move to help or to take back his previous comments. She cursed him under her breath and realized she'd be pulling over at the first convenient spot to repack her suitcase and stop her expensive clothes from being completely ruined.

Cuddy turned as she opened the driver's door, attempting to catch his eye one last time and give him the chance to change his mind. House's gaze remained resolutely fixed to the floor, and so she got into the car with a deep sigh. One step forward, a huge jump back; nothing would ever change with them.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Cameron had definitely improved her sprinting speed during her time in the ER, because when she rushed into Cuddy's office, the momentum almost carried her straight into the desk. Wilson almost went backwards through the window with fright and the unexpected interruption, and they both laughed gently as they tried to catch their breath.

"Sorry, Wilson, but I've got something here you need to see." Cameron gasped, all traces of a smile leaving her face.

A printed email from Dr. Finnan, regarding patient: House, B. Wilson shook his head as he handed Cameron the file he had unearthed in Cuddy's desk drawer. Cameron skimmed the contents with a deepening frown, finishing with an "oh God," as she sank into the visitor's chair.

Wilson broke the uneasy silence.

"I can't believe he didn't come to me. I know things are weird, but it's cancer for God's sake! That's my damn job."

"Wilson, I think he might actually have been protecting you. You were grieving, you'd just had a big loss of your own; maybe he didn't want to put you through it."

The oncologist considered Cameron's supposition, almost sure that it was just her rosy-tinted view of House informing it. A part of him--the same part that admitted on lonelier nights that he missed having a beer with House and watching the game--wanted it to be true. He knew that if he did find out the reason, it would probably be a lot more twisted than anything resembling consideration for others. He raised his eyebrows in response, motioning for Cameron to return the file to him.

As soon as she did, she grabbed the cell phone from her pocket and dialed the number she was reading from her email printout.

"Dr. Finnan, please. This is Dr. Cameron from Princeton-Plainsboro."

Wilson leaned back in Cuddy's chair, impressed by Cameron's business-like manner and the short range of questions that got her all the answers in just a minute or two. He felt distinctly less relaxed when she ended the call and shared the news with tears forming in her eyes.

Damn it, House, he thought, why did you have to go through this alone?


	9. Chapter 9

Chapter 9

Chapter 9

"**Our friends say it's darkest before the sun rises,**

**We're pretty sure they're all wrong"**

Wilson had never liked Cuddy's voicemail message, having heard it too many times when he was stressed and desperately needed his boss to bail him out. That, or he would be leaving her the Readers' Digest version of House's latest escapade so that she wouldn't be ambushed at work the next morning. Today he just wanted to talk to her about House, not listen to her listing various emergency contacts that could be tried in her absence. On the third attempt he finally left a message, finding the topic completely unsuitable for a 30-second recording.

It surprised him that she didn't return his call after almost five hours. Barring a coma or a complete network outage, Cuddy had the fastest response time outside of the ambulance service. When she finally did call, it seemed grudging, like she couldn't get off the phone fast enough.

"Cuddy, I just found out about House's mom. Finnan said that she went pretty quickly with the damage from the surgery. Did you speak to House yet?"

An awkward silence on her end--a sure sign that her wheels of thought were in motion. Eventually she came up with an answer.

"Yeah, he's at home, dealing with stuff. I guess he'll be back next week. Listen, Wilson, I can't really talk now, Zach just arrived. I'll see you at work tomorrow?"

Wilson ended the call feeling a little pissed, almost like Cuddy had been trying to keep the information from him. No matter what had happened, House had been his friend for years, and she didn't have the monopoly on his life just because things had been weird for a while. He tried House's cell one more time, but got an even more annoying message. He'd talk to him soon enough.

Cuddy jumped from the sofa as soon as she got rid of Wilson, intent on keeping House out of her evening. Zach had just pulled into the driveway, and she was waiting by the door when he reached it. Drawing him into a hungry kiss, she practically dragged him into the hallway. He broke away with some difficulty.

"Whoa! You grab a guy like that, you end up with merlot splashed all over your porch!"

"I missed you. If you don't mind skipping the restaurant, I think I can find a way for us to pass the time."

Cuddy was a woman on a mission, stripping her top over her head as she issued the invitation. Zach swallowed hard, unaccustomed to Lisa Cuddy at her most determined. Luckily, he wasn't actually an idiot and placed the bottle of wine carefully on the hall table before joining her in a somewhat rapid shedding of clothes. It looked as though absence really did make the heart grow fonder.

A couple of hours later, they were tucked in bathrobes on her sofa, eating pizza and sipping large glasses of the red wine. Reruns of Frasier played softly in the background but neither paying particular attention to the television.

"So, how was it?" Zach asked, the apprehension in his voice not entirely hidden.

Cuddy shrugged, hoping her pained facial expression would say it all.

"Funerals are always depressing. It's done now; he'll be back in a few days."

Nonchalance was her best option, play down the importance of going at all, as though she would do the same for any of her employees. For tonight, she was in the mood to be adored, appreciated. Thinking about the past of couple of days left her feeling confused, angry and not just a little stupid. Why dwell on that when she could be feeling fantastic?

"Well, I know you'll be immersing yourself in work again from tomorrow, but how about we go away for the day on Sunday? Nothing fancy, maybe just drive out to one of the parks, do some hiking?"

The expectation on his face made it impossible for Cuddy to refuse. Besides, she felt like getting out of town and away from distractions, even if only for a few hours. She didn't exactly like hiking, but supposed it was just slower running with different footwear; another way to get her daily quota of exercise. More than anything else, it felt damn nice to be wanted.

Cuddy was in a pretty good mood when she returned to the hospital the next morning, a feeling compounded by the lack of smoldering ruins or full-scale riots. At worst, she'd have a queue of pissy doctors awaiting her signature, but that was hardly unusual. She stopped by the cafeteria for some coffee and something sugary, the previous night's exertions having taken their toll on her already exhausted body and mind.

Ten seconds into the cafeteria and she was cursing her decision, because a very concerned-looking Cameron was bearing down on her. So much for a gentle easing back into the job; it would be 20 Questions right off the bat.

"Dr. Cuddy, I'm so glad I caught you." Cameron had an all too familiar glint in her eye, one the Dean recognized but couldn't quite place.

"Dr. Cameron, how can I help? If you've left anything with Dr. Adler, I'll get to it this morning, just need to caffeinate first."

Cameron's roving gaze made Cuddy feel uncomfortable, knowing her still damp hair and heavier than usual makeup were probably all too apparent. If Cameron had been listening to hospital gossip, the last thing Cuddy felt like was soothing Cameron's broken heart.

"I heard about House's mom, and figured you'd know if he was ok? When we saw that you were on leave too, I hoped that meant…"

"I was on leave for personal reasons, ones that are none of anybody's business. House has kept me informed. He's dealing with a few things at home now that the funeral is over. I expect we'll see him in the next few days."

Why lie? All it would take now would be for House to come back and blab about her embarrassing sojourn to Connecticut and she'd look like a fool.

Cameron's eyes narrowed defensively. It was getting a lot harder to fob her off now that she was no longer merely a fellow.

"I was going to suggest we get together and come up with a plan to keep an eye on him once he's back – you saw what he was like after Stacy. His pain levels will need special monitoring. However, you don't seem all that bothered…"

Cuddy sighed, feeling her good mood evaporate like the steam off the coffee that was calling her name from across the room.

"Fine, speak to my assistant and we'll make some time today or tomorrow. He won't appreciate us interfering though, trust me on that one."

Choking back her bitterness, Cuddy stalked off in search of the cup of coffee that was rightfully hers. Cameron hesitated a moment before heading back to the ER. She'd only been puked on once yet on this shift, but there were still three hours to go.

When House arrived at PPTH two days later, he began to seriously wish he hadn't bothered. He surveyed the building from the parking lot, his mental map of it superimposed over the dull gray brick. He could see the idiots with their autumn colds piling up in the clinic, nurses congregating at the end of quiet corridors for coffee and a gossip out of sight of the taskmaster doctors they worked for. Somewhere on the fourth floor, Foreman would be sifting frantically through piles of records, trying to find a case that would pique the interest of the new ducklings. The ducklings should be playing cards or sleeping, but by now the novelty of being lazy had probably worn off, and Cuddy would have them assigned to the clinic or the ER by now. He scanned the parking lot, surprised to see Wilson's blue Jag in its usual space. The impulse to head straight for the oncologist's office took him by surprise, but his emotions were the last thing he could trust right now, and so he ignored them.

It had been a long two days of fake civility, his cousins surprisingly bearable, with only a handful of cripple jokes coming his way. His father flitting around like a ghost, the house echoing at night with just the two of them. He'd discharged all his duties, mailing letters and making phone calls as though he usually avoided such tasks like the plague. Still, barely a word had passed between them, except for one awkward conversation about when to start giving away her clothes to Goodwill. That had fizzled out as they both realized they were nowhere near ready. It had been easier to deal with things when Cuddy had been around to oil the wheels a little.

Yes, Cuddy. She would be in there, no doubt glued to her desk chair: spending thousands with a stroke of her pen, sympathizing with patients that other doctors had failed, reprimanding those doctors in a way that left them close to tears. His mind wandered idly over what she would be wearing today; would it be demure Cuddy with her Victorian ruffled blouses, or dominatrix Cuddy with her skin-tight black blouse that drew all the attention in a room to her cleavage?

It didn't matter; he was sure he was firmly on top of her shit list, his typical asshole behavior having alienated her once again. It worried him more than usual, because now she had a boyfriend. She was about 15 years too old to be using terms like boyfriend, but nonetheless she was less likely to put up with the worst of House when she was offered the clean-cut, butter-wouldn't-melt alternative. He didn't like it one bit, and though he knew it was stupid to risk pissing her off even further, he was simply itching to cause trouble again.

Besides, she might enjoy the drama. If it was all lovey-dovey excitement with the new man, she wouldn't have uprooted herself to Connecticut just to check on him. House still didn't understand why she had been there at all, but it certainly kept things interesting.

He couldn't justify spending the whole morning in the parking lot, and so with a world-weary sigh, he limped the last few yards to the hospital entrance and what he was sure would be a long and tedious day.

It got to almost five before anyone dared to trouble him. He'd dismissed Foreman's latest attempt at a mystery, diagnosing the patient with an infection before he'd finished reading the first page. Cameron was on her day off, but had left him a note that showed she had finally learned how to deal with him – no soppy sentiment, just a brief sorry and an offer of drinks if he needed it. Hoping he could sneak out early, and surprised but happy that Cuddy hadn't hounded him over clinic hours, he was shoving his iPod into his backpack when Wilson appeared in his doorway.

Momentarily stunned, he could do little more than offer Wilson a questioning look, temporarily frozen behind his desk.

"I heard about your mom, House. I'm sorry."

"Don't worry about it, it's not like you killed her."

Ouch. By the wince that remark drew from the oncologist, House realized his knack for saying precisely the wrong thing was intact.

"Anyway, I wondered if you knew what was going on with Cuddy. One minute she's calling me about some secret about you, then she disappears. And when she comes back, she's talking about some guy named Zach, who I've never heard of. It's weird, even for someone as private as Cuddy."

House considered the information carefully, like tasting a particularly expensive wine. As with most overpriced plonk, it left an unpleasant aftertaste.

"Interesting stuff ,Wilson. I see your reputation as the hospital gossip hound is safe. You said Cuddy told you about this Zach guy after her little holiday? Made a point of it, even?"

"Yeah, so?" Wilson's confusion was evident as he waited for House to continue.

"Our beloved leader didn't mention her new role as an escort? Renting herself out for all family gatherings, funerals included? Hey, she's Jewish, so you might get a discount if you need a date for a bar mitzvah or something."

Wilson almost strained muscles in his forehead, his eyebrows shot up so quickly.

"Cuddy came to your mother's funeral? Did you ask her to?"

House rolled his eyes at the very suggestion. He didn't need anyone, especially not the sexy but evil Dean of Medicine. Which was completely ignoring how much he had liked having her there. He couldn't help a small smile as he replayed the kiss she gave him when she thought he was sleeping. Catching himself too late, he hastily rearranged his features into their usual mask of contempt.

"Yeah, and if you think that gossip is juicy, well, I've got tales that would make your head spin. I mean, if you wanted to grab a beer or something, no big deal." He tried to inject his usual bored tone into the subtle invitation, too fragile to risk outright rejection.

Wilson had known there would be no fanfare--just one day something would click and they'd be ready to get back to their friendship. If that something was a cold Bud and gossip about their boss, then so be it. He might never get over Amber, but with distance he could see that House hadn't killed her, and had risked his own life not for her, but for Wilson.

"Sure, should I grab a six-pack and head for your place?"

As expected, the ease of Wilson's assent had startled House, but the older man covered his shock well. With a shrug, he accepted the plan, as though there had never been a problem between them.

Hours later, as the second six-pack emptied, the two friends regarded each other in the dim light of House's living room.

"Cuddy kissed someone… and that someone was… you? But she also has this guy, this professor who is definitely not you. So, to sum up, Cuddy kissed you, and at least one other man that we know about."

Wilson was slurring slightly by that point, resigning himself to a night on House's lumpy sofa.

"Yep, our wicked mistress is as insatiable as we thought – one man can never be enough for her unnatural desires."

House had draped himself across the lounger, eyes heavy-lidded from the buzz of the beer and exhaustion. It was a relief to have Wilson here, to say things out loud rather than churning them over in his own head every minute of the day. His peaceful reverie was interrupted by Wilson's incessant babbling.

"What I find really funny though, is that you've only told me, like in some sort of…confidence. The way you normally talk about Cuddy, this kind of ammo should have you parading in front of her office singing 'House and Cuddy sitting in a tree…' Or at the very least, printing posters to tell the whole hospital."

"House, do you _like_ her?"

"Jimmy boy, has that ever worked? I mean, seriously, you come up with some half-baked theory and try to trick me into confirming it with a direct question. Hardly the work of a master, my friend."

Wilson sincerely enjoyed wiping away the smug smirk that had just appeared on his friend's face.

"That's where you're wrong, old buddy. Your non-answer, your refusal to even address the question, tells me all I need to know. Not to mention that you tensed up so quickly at the very idea that I think you may have pulled some muscles in your back. You have got it bad, and there's nothing you can say to deny it."

Maybe it was the beer, or the willingness to concede one little point to aid their healing relationship, but House made no effort to contradict him.

"Doesn't matter, she has a boyfriend."

Wilson snorted, almost inhaling his last mouthful of beer.

"Like that ever stopped you."


	10. Chapter 10

Chapter 10

Chapter 10

"**I hope it stays dark forever**

**I hope the worst isn't over"**

House dragged himself from the warm cocoon of his bed, cursing whichever suicidal, God-bothering intruder was intent on hammering his front door into matchsticks. Bad enough that they were trawling for customers on a Saturday, but if after one round of obnoxious pounding at a closed door had gotten no response, they really ought to take a hint.

Stumbling through his living room, he smiled slightly at the discarded beer bottles, a reminder that Wilson was back in the friendship zone. House was more relieved about that than he would admit, but he had been glad to slip in a quick apology about Amber after the beer had loosened both their tongues. If only he hadn't dished the dirt about Cuddy and her sudden oral fixation. Preparing some of his best anti-God material, he threw the door open.

Only to be confronted with the image of his father standing before him.

"Sir?"

"Can't you answer the damned door, boy? I've been standing here for the best part of five minutes." His booming voice made him stand more stiffly by force of habit.

With an ironic glance at his bum leg, House stepped back into the apartment and allowed his father entry.

"What can I do you for Dad? Some people make a telephone call before showing up at the crack of dawn on a weekend."

His father took in the mess of the room before him, eagle eyes not missing a single empty bottle, discarded wrapper or speck of dust. House felt his hackles rising, ready for the inevitable attack.

"There were some things I forgot to give you, and since I'm taking a trip, I thought I'd see you on my way."

House tried to wipe the suspicious look from his face, and limped into the kitchen to start a pot of coffee; it looked as though he would definitely need it.

Formalities dispensed with, House sat nervously on the edge of his own sofa, watching his father pace the limited available floor space. Both men had sipped from their coffee mugs, and a silence that was anything but comfortable had descended. Finally, his father spoke.

"Your mother left some things to you in her will. You need to sign the papers and send them back to the attorney. She also made me promise to try and fix this thing between us, though I'll be damned if I know what to do about that. I thought maybe you could go sailing with me, just a day or so before I set off."

When no elaboration was forthcoming, House pressed his father to explain.

"I thought I told you at home? I still have a boat moored down at the shore, taking a trip down to the Caribbean since I got nothing much better to do these days. A few of my buddies retired down there, and they say the fishing's pretty good."

Unable to bite back his sarcasm, House took aim at his father against his better judgment.

"So despite the fact that you're obviously grieving, you thought it would be wise to be stuck at sea for days with only yourself for company? Yeah, that sounds healthy to me. Great idea."

To House's dismay, his father merely shook his head, not even a shadow of his usual aggression present.

"It's what I need to do. Hell, it's what I would have been doing all these years without your mother. I was quite content by myself until I met her, quite sure I didn't need anything but the job and my drinking buddies. Now she's not around, well, there's not much more I can think of doing. I wasn't really asking for your opinion, boy."

Once more, House's own father had managed to make him feel like he was 12 again.

Resisting the temptation to kick off another fight, House shrugged and began to clean up some of the debris in his apartment.

"Give me 10 minutes and we'll go get breakfast. Not like I have anything in the fridge."

As his father shrugged indifferently, House blinked furiously and told himself that he wasn't looking at his future.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Cuddy was sulking.

No, a powerful woman in her 40s didn't sulk; she was simply considering the injustice of the universe.

Sitting in Zach's Range Rover, mud caked from the toes of her brand new hiking boots to the knee of her soggy and soaked jeans. So far, she had resisted the urge to check out her reflection in the passenger side mirror, knowing that rain had the unfortunate habit of returning her hair to its more natural Medusa-like state. Zach was still thrashing around in the mud outside the car, cursing as he threw the remnants of their picnic into the trunk. Cuddy sighed as she wondered why two grown adults with five degrees between them hadn't done anything as smart as checking the weather forecast. A shame, since she had actually been enjoying some outdoor time with her man before the heavens opened.

He finally joined her inside the car, starting the engine with some urgency. With an apologetic smile, he reversed out of the makeshift parking lot and headed for the main road with a speed that made Cuddy nervous given the treacherous conditions. Neither spoke until he joined the freeway, his speed more appropriate for the faster road.

"I'm sorry, Lisa. I wanted one perfect day, and instead I've probably given you pneumonia. There's a fleece blanket in the back you can use."

Zach gave her knee an affectionate squeeze, withdrawing his hand a little too quickly as he came in contact with sodden denim and rapidly drying mud.

"You can't help the rain, Zach. I'm fairly sure I won't get sick if I get home and get changed soon."

He smacked his hands off the steering wheel.

"I just needed today to go well. I had this idea that…Well, it doesn't matter."

Cuddy was at a loss for something to say. Zach's bad mood seemed disproportionate for bad luck with the weather, but this mind-reading situation was generally where she failed at relationships. Opting to keep her own counsel, she reached into the back seat for the fleece and wrapped it around herself for the remainder of the journey.

When they arrived back at her house, she was unsure whether to invite him in. As it turned out, she didn't have to make a decision because he followed her in anyway. She shrugged off her wet clothes en route to the bedroom, puzzled by Zach's silence and apparent lack of interest in her newly naked self. Grabbing her fluffy bathrobe and slippers, she was relieved to burrow into their warmth, cranking the heating to high on her journey back to the sitting room where Zach had taken up residence.

"I really hope I don't regret asking, but what's wrong? A bit of rain isn't that big a deal, Zach."

Cuddy fought to keep the panic from her question. Usually when she was screwing up a relationship, she knew why. Had he sensed the moment when they reached the top of the hill and she had thought suddenly and wistfully about House, how moments like this were lost to him now? It had been unintentional. She was just used to him popping into her thoughts at random, especially on a day like today when she wasn't being paged from the hospital every five minutes.

"It's just… I had this plan. I wanted us to have a wonderful day, so that I could take you out tonight and… oh, I don't know."

Cuddy felt an odd sense of foreboding--this felt a little too much like the weirdness before a breakup and damned if she wasn't used to that.

"Hey, if you don't want to see me anymore, you don't have to buy me dinner to tell me. I understand."

Zach leapt up from his chair so quickly that Cuddy would have been forgiven for thinking the furniture had spontaneously combusted. He grabbed her hand and looked her directly in the eye.

"Lisa, that is the absolute last thing I want. What I wanted today was to make you happy, happy enough that if I were to say something a bit stupid like, 'I love you', you wouldn't freak out about it."

Cuddy's expression froze in a half-smile, her brain unable to adequately process the words she had heard. Was this really happening? Had the perfect guy just told her that he was in love as she stood in a bathrobe with frizzy hair? She felt her brain grasping for a suitable response and failing miserably.

"Don't worry, Lisa, I know it's really early in our relationship and I don't want you to feel pressured into saying anything back. I just wanted you to know as soon as I was sure. It's the first time I've felt this way about a woman in years, and well, there it is."

Zach caressed her hand with his thumb, seemingly entranced by the feeling of her skin under his. Aware that she was standing there with her mouth hanging open, Cuddy suddenly felt pretty dumb.

"I'm having a great time with you Zach, and I think we're going somewhere really wonderful. I hope it's okay that I need a little more time to sort out the whole feelings thing."

She noticed the flash of disappointment in his eyes, though he made a valiant attempt to hide it.

"Not a problem, Lisa, really it's not. Listen, I need to head for my place tonight – I have the assessors coming in tomorrow and I need to actually prepare something for tomorrow's lecture before they get their evaluation sheets out. I'll see you for lunch, maybe?"

Cuddy shrugged, knowing as well as he did that lunch plans were hit and miss at best. She could plan for every eventuality and still something would crop up that would reduce her to grabbing a sandwich en route to a meeting instead.

Zach leaned in and kissed her deeply. There was no denying that the man had an excellent flair for parting shots. Perhaps he expected her to wheedle him into staying, but she had a load of proposals to read over for the finance meeting the next morning, and felt like a quiet evening to get everything done. He was smiling as he left, and Cuddy congratulated herself on managing not to screw up for once.

After a mostly sleepless night, Monday morning brought its own fresh hell for the Dean to navigate: a power failure on the second floor that knocked out a whole bunch of vital equipment, and a backup generator that decided in mid-crisis to now choke up and die. After relocating patients to anywhere with functioning electricity, her limited energy reserves were depleted and she fled to her office for an emergency nap.

So much for sanctuary. Her supposedly locked office had been infiltrated by her least favorite doctor. She shouldn't be surprised, really. She doubted the Pentagon would be able to keep him out if he set his mind to it. Opening her office door, she forced down the relief at seeing him again, at the color in his cheeks and the fact that he was at least vaguely presentable. Perhaps she hadn't given him enough credit for staying functional; he was a grown man after all.

He greeted her with his usual disdain, as though the past week hadn't occurred.

"Wow, that's a slutty blouse. I'm surprised the electricians haven't finished by now. One quick flash of the girls should've had them performing miracles. Well, you are getting older. Anyway, I need approval to cut this kid open, or you know, she'll die. The usual, really."

"Get consent from the parents. I'm not going to override their wishes just because you don't want to deal with them. And give me back the key you stole to get in here."

Cuddy marched past him, all business, in the hope that not engaging him would allow her to reclaim her office and some desperately needed sleep.

"Who says I have a key? You look tired. I'd have thought you'd be past the staying-up-all-night-discussing-your-hopes-and-dreams stage by now. You know your complexion can't cope with it."

Unlike his usual confrontational style, he wouldn't look at her as he landed these jibes, though he did risk the occasional glance to gauge her reaction. Her patience for his mind games was thin at the best of times, but totally non-existent today.

"Oh silly me. For a minute I thought we were discussing something that was any of your damn business!"

She couldn't help her defensive posture, arms crossed reflexively across her abdomen, willing him not to come any closer. For once he seemed to take the damn hint and when he raised his lazy frame from the furniture, he headed directly for the door.

"I'll get Kutner to talk the parents round. You should go buy some of that crap women put under their eyes."

Cuddy waved him away, her gaze falling gratefully on a bag from Armando's Deli sitting atop her morning's neglected paperwork. Realizing that she hadn't eaten since that bowl of soup the previous evening, she attacked the salad it contained with enthusiasm. She smiled at the thought of Zach dropping it off. They had worked out two weeks ago that it was the halfway point between their two offices, and she had sent a quick text mid-morning saying lunch was predictably a no-go.

House watched her from the other side of the glass, a smile forming at the edges of his mouth. He knew by now that in times of crisis her own needs always came last. It was no big deal. He had wanted a better Reuben than the cafeteria could offer, so why not pick up a little something for his boss at the same time? So he remembered to order the Greek salad without olives, since he had seen Cuddy pick them out of countless dishes over the years. It certainly didn't mean that he _cared_.

It made him feel funny, in a surprisingly good way, to see her devour the green leaves and chunks of feta cheese as though she hadn't eaten in days. She leaned back against the soft leather of her chair and he caught the faint sound of a contented sigh. Twisting the plastic fork between her slim fingers, she chose her next morsel with precision, skewering the helpless bits like a woman possessed. House could hear his brain ordering his feet to keep going, that there was no reason to stand there. The command was ignored as he watched Cuddy trace her finger across the olive oil on her bottom lip, her tongue darting out to finish the job. It was like that British woman on the food channel, the one who treated every meal like soft porn, only much better.

Realizing that he'd be completely busted if he didn't get moving, House turned and began his slow walk towards the clinic exit, only to run straight into Wilson.

"You paged me? Since you weren't in your office, I figured you'd finally decided it was time to pull Cuddy's pigtails again. Seems I was right."

House couldn't stand Wilson's schoolboy smirk so he simply glared at him.

"So why did you page me—with a 911 no less?"

With a quick scan of their surroundings to make sure nobody was in earshot, House leaned in to whisper to Wilson.

"I need a favor."


	11. Chapter 11

Your feedback so far has been excellent, constructive and very much appreciated. Thank you so much, I hope you enjoy these last few chapters.

I've been a little naughty and switched the song lyrics around for Chapters 11 and 12, it fits the content of each chapter much better that way. Hope you'll forgive me, Mountain Goats fans!

Chapter 11

""**And I hope when you think of me years down the line**

**You can't find one good thing to say"**

It was pretty rare, but there were times when being a cripple was a great big advantage. For example, House had been en route to Zach's office to put into motion a plan that would have resulted in Cuddy's embarrassment shrieking hyena-style and possible criminal charges for him. Thanks to his disability, he hadn't made it quite that far.

The trek across campus had been tough on his bad leg, and so House had been forced to rest against one of the huge sandstone columns, one that moments later Zach Lowenstein leaned on while having a heated conversation with someone on his cell.

Two minutes later and House had the information that would blow his own attempts at meddling right out of the water.

House stepped out from his hiding place, lollipop dangling idly from his lip, summoning up his best John Wayne swagger. The cane might have spoiled the effect slightly, but if the look of terror on Zach's face was anything to go by, it didn't seem to have reduced the impact.

"Listen, I don't know what you thought you heard…"

"Let's see, _Zachary_, whatever could you be talking about? The part where you refused to see someone for drinks tonight? No wait, did you mean the part where you told someone you wouldn't cheat on your girlfriend with them _again_? You know, you could win me fifty bucks if you tell me it was a guy you were talking to."

House was firmly in his element, and it felt good to have the upper hand once again after those strange weeks of numbness. The anger coursing through him made the world come into focus again, a sharp change from the foggy sadness that had dominated him for the past couple of weeks.

"That wasn't, uh… Listen, House, that was someone I well… you know how messy things can get, right? Women can be so complicated." Zach now had a slightly manic quality about him, his desperate attempt at 'one of the guys' camaraderie falling flat.

House summoned his best fake laugh.

"Oh yeah, bitches and hos, right? You're lucky I like this cane or it'd be paying your skull a visit right about now."

Zach had recovered some of his composure, and there was a glint of steel in his eye as he stepped up to House, hoping to intimidate him.

"Doesn't matter what you heard. Lisa will assume it's your usual meddling bullshit anyway. She's told me about all your little schemes over the years, and as a lawyer, you're nobody's idea of a reliable witness."

House drew himself up to his full height, showing off the few inches he had over the other man. His left hand flexed into a fist and with great effort he forced his fingers to straighten again.

"Zach, how could you say such a thing?" House clutched his chest, putting on a wounded look.

"I might be an inveterate liar, drug addict and born troublemaker, but Cuddy has been my friend for a helluva long time. Haven't you noticed that she still trusts me more than pretty much anyone? I'll make her believe me if I have to, but that won't be necessary."

His bravado was beginning to slip, and Zach's "No?" had a telltale crack in it .

"No, it won't be necessary, because you're going to tell her. You'll break it to her gently but you'll tell her the truth. She deserves that."

Zach bristled at the order he had been issued. He was not a man accustomed to letting others tell him what to do. When he responded, he had regained some of his steel.

"I'm not going to lose someone like Lisa over one stupid mistake. She was only out of town because you manipulated her. I wouldn't have been able to do anything wrong if she'd been around." His voice was belligerent, like a kid trying to bluster his way out of being caught with his hand in the cookie jar.

House was a second away from punching the guy, but some small scrap of common sense kicked in at the vital moment. Nothing could stop the venom that laced his words though.

"Because saying 'no' is impossible? She did nothing wrong, and you can't blame the fact of you being a dick on her decision to be a good person. You have until tomorrow to tell her. And trust me, if I have to tell her, you don't have a chance of her ever forgiving you."

As a lawyer and a professor, it was perhaps just instinct that made Zach want to continue arguing his case, but House stormed away from him before he could try anything else. It meant crashing through the pain barrier to leave with any kind of speed and a modicum of authority. He grabbed desperately at the Vicodin in his pocket, his pride not allowing him to partake of its contents until he was out of sight.

Pulling up at the first bench he came across, House collapsed on it with a groan, sweat pouring from his forehead. Swallowing was harder since he was out of breath, but he forced two pills down and massaged his thigh until he felt the much-needed narcotic effect.

As the pain relented, he felt the anger begin to ebb away slowly. He had been so close to taking a swing at the guy. What kind of asshole would cheat on Cuddy? From the conversation he'd overheard, it seemed Zach had sought out a pity fuck from an ex; the way he had spoken to her was way too familiar to be a random bar pickup.

House knew he didn't have any right to feel protective of Cuddy, and God knows she'd kill him for acting like she couldn't fight her own battles. Wilson's maddening observation about his so-called feelings for Cuddy were tormenting him at every turn. So what if he did want to jump her? Only a fool wouldn't see how hot she was. What troubled him were the other feelings that he was trying to drown in his internal vat of cynicism. He didn't want to like the feel of her hand in his, or be soothed by her sleeping next to him. What he wanted was for none of those things to affect him, because feeling that way was the kind of dangerous territory he'd been in with Stacy and that still hurt.

With a sigh, he realized he had to start back for the hospital – Wilson would be waiting.

--

Wilson paced the second floor lobby like an expectant father in one of the old movies he loved so much; all that was missing was the unlit cigar in his jacket pocket. For now, he had to settle for winding his watch every minute or so.

He was getting used to the sympathetic smiles that greeted him at every turn. After all it was better that people liked you enough to feel sympathy rather than the alternative. The best part of this afternoon's task was that he was in an entirely unfamiliar part of the hospital, the pastel colors and soft seating not somewhere he associated with Amber.

The elevators made their announcement of new arrivals, and to Wilson's shock, House was one of the bodies to emerge from the car. Not only had he shown up for the favor he'd requested, but he'd done so three minutes early. The oncologist had already been preparing his apology to Dr. Ramirez for House's non-appearance, yet here he was, looking strangely animated.

"House, you're here!"

House simply rolled his eyes at Wilson's innate ability to state the obvious.

"Well, they should be calling you in any minute. I filled out the forms because the insurance company doesn't like it when you fill in every box with 'this question offends my religious beliefs'. I just need to put the reason for my referral. What is the reason exactly?"

House narrowed his eyes in suspicion. He knew it was too good to be true that Wilson would simply do his bidding without trying to weasel the reason out of him. It was exhausting how people kept wanting to talk about his feelings, like he should stop functioning just because some unpleasant stuff had happened. The one time he wasn't self-medicating himself into a coma and he had to ward off all the relentless questions and concern. Besides, he didn't want to dwell on his own life when much more interesting things were happening elsewhere. He had so much to do, including a trip to Cuddy's office to find out what they were doing tomorrow. He had a party to crash.

Realizing that Wilson was still staring at him expectantly, he hastily threw out an answer.

"I heard the new massage therapist is super hot, like Swedish pornstar hot. You can't get in for a massage without signing up for the whole program, so here I am."

Wilson didn't bother to hide how unconvinced he was. House knew he rarely fell for his outrageous lies. Whatever the reason, Wilson was quietly thrilled to be referring House to the new Pain Management Program, though he was prepared for House being thrown out in the first session and never returning. Whether he had made a promise to his mother, or was trying to get Cuddy's attention, all that mattered to his friend was the prospect of progress. They both knew there was no cure, no wonder solution; even if such a thing existed it wouldn't make House magically less miserable or rude. It might make a tiny bit of difference though, and for that, it was worth making the effort.

Of course Wilson noticed the tension in his friend's body, especially how white his knuckles were as they gripped his cane. It was certainly unlike House to show any kind of nerves but this was a pretty big step after all.

Little did he know that the appointment with Dr. Ramirez was the last thing on House's mind.


	12. Chapter 12

Chapter 12

Chapter 12

"**I hope you blink before I do**

**I hope I never get sober"**

Hoping she didn't look as flustered as she felt, Cuddy greeted Zach with a swift kiss before throwing herself gratefully into the empty chair opposite him. Her bustling approach drew glares from the other diners in the library-quiet restaurant. Apparently, stony silence was part of an atmosphere that usually required a three-month wait for a reservation. Zach had raved about this restaurant and had taken great delight in bragging about his buddy who had gotten them in with just two weeks' notice. Now, she noticed, he looked as though he'd rather be somewhere else.

"You're late," he snapped.

"I'm sorry. By the time I realized how late I was, I just ran straight over here. We had a psych patient on the roof and, well, we got him down eventually. I don't even want to think about the paperwork that'll be waiting for me in the morning." She knew she was rambling but was determined to get things back on the right track.

He simply glared at the adrenalin-influenced volume of her reply. Chastised, she lowered her tone to the funeral-home whisper that seemed to be the norm.

"Sorry, this place looks gorgeous. Shall we get the menu? I wouldn't say no to a Manhattan either." Cuddy deployed what she hoped was her most adorable smile; she hated to think her date was ruined before it even began.

"I ordered some food already. Didn't want to look like I'd been stood up."

Cuddy bristled at his sulky demeanor. Thirty minutes late wasn't polite but it was hardly high treason. She flagged down the waiter who confirmed all her worst suspicions about the place when he addressed her in a tone that implied he was used to waiting on royalty and superstars. He sighed at her drink order as though she had just asked him to cut off his right hand for her. This feeling of every man in the restaurant being pissed at her for no apparent reason was probably why she almost felt relieved when she heard the commotion at the door.

Of course, she recognized the dulcet tones of House in full complaining mode right away. It took Zach a little longer to place the voice echoing around the plush room, but his initial scowl was replaced by something resembling panic. As Cuddy opened her mouth to question him, House broke free of the _maître d'_ and limped straight across to their table.

"God, Cuddy, how fast did you run here? It makes it so much harder to follow you. It's not natural that you can move that fast in those ridiculous shoes."

He sat down with a loud sigh, earning the pointed glares of everyone else in the establishment, or at least those who had resisted the urge to stare when he first came barging in.

"House," Cuddy had lowered her tone to a pointed hiss, but there was no mistaking the urgency in it.

"What the hell are you doing here? We've had this discussion. You have no right to intrude like this!"

"Zeke invited me, said it would be good for us all to get to know each other. Since I'm your bestest, closest friend after all."

House had his usual sarcastic grin plastered across his face, but the undertone in his words concerned her. Though he addressed his reply to Cuddy, his eyes were boring lasers into Zach. His stupid wrong-name ploy was irritating beyond belief, but Zach made no move to correct him. Something was definitely off here.

The tension was broken momentarily by the arrival of her drink, closely followed

by a second waiter with the appetizers. Her heart sank as she saw the plate of marinated olives in front of her, typical fare for a Mediterranean restaurant. Since Zach had ordered the same for himself, there was no getting around it. She could have some of the bread, and force down one or two olives for appearances' sake.

Before she could relax though, she knew she had to get rid of her intrusive diagnostician. As she opened her mouth to dismiss him, he interrupted her by clicking imperiously at the departing waiters. One turned around and addressed him through gritted teeth.

"Yes, sir?"

House swiped her bowl of olives, popping one nonchalantly into his mouth.

"The 'lady' here doesn't have an appetizer. Could ya fetch her the calamari?"

"Certainly sir." Cuddy caught the man rolling his eyes as he turned away.

"House, give me my food and get the hell out of here." She knew confronting him would be messy, but the murderous glares from Zach meant a bit of noise was worth it to get House out of there pronto.

"Why are you fighting with me over food you don't even like? You hate olives, especially the black ones. Oh my God, are you some kind of racist?" House was milking the scene for all it was worth, enjoying watching them squirm.

"You don't like olives?" Zach interjected before Cuddy could respond. "Why didn't you say so? We could have sent it back."

The penny suddenly dropped for Cuddy: the thoughtful gesture of yesterday's lunch that she had automatically credited to Zach couldn't have been from him. Since she couldn't keep an assistant for more than a couple of weeks, that left only one culprit, one who had just confessed that he knew about her hatred for the slimy little balls in front of her. She had a hundred glib remarks ready, competing with calming words for Zach, and yet she sat there smiling like an idiot.

House—the very definition of selfish, thoughtless and inattentive to the needs of others—had done something very sweet for her.

It made her feel funny. In a good way.

The really inconvenient, inappropriate, outright dangerous kind of good way.

_Oh, crap_.

It didn't help that he was studying her like a particularly confusing CT scan, her smile having caught his attention like a magnet. He knew that she had worked it out, the smugness on his face practically screamed that he wanted credit for doing something nice. Just as she steeled herself to be called on it, he stood up suddenly and walked away from the table, thumping his cane obnoxiously against the polished wooden floors.

Zach exhaled heavily, his fingers rubbing hard at his temples. Giving herself a mental shake, Cuddy turned her attention to him. She drank in the details of him almost desperately, reminding herself how much she liked his thick brown hair, the perfect cut of his shirt, the muscles that were hidden under it.

Except these details didn't make the breath catch in her throat as they had done before. She felt strangely cold, detached even, as she regarded him. There was no comparison for the electric heat still pulsating in her thoughts about House and how he had surprised her.

"That guy's really an asshole. What did he think he was proving by showing up here?" Zach spoke with low menace, anger in his expression that Cuddy had never seen before.

"I'll talk to him. He'll get bored eventually." Cuddy knew it was a lie even as the words escaped her lips.

"You shouldn't see him outside of work. Call the police if he shows up at your place. Don't even get me started on the fact that you should have fired him years ago. I'm surprised at you, Lisa."

It was subtle, but at that moment Cuddy felt something inside her snap. She didn't come to a stuffy restaurant after a long and exhausting day just to be lectured. After Vogler, Tritter and a thousand patient complaints, she certainly didn't need her judgment questioned one more time. How dare he tell her how to run her life, never mind do her job?

"You know what? You were in a crappy mood before House ever showed up, and a free evening is too rare for me to waste. I'm sorry that I was late, but there's no need for this amount of sulking. And don't you ever tell me what I should or shouldn't do in _my_ hospital. Enjoy your damn olives."

With that, Cuddy gathered her bag and swept out as haughtily as she could. When the crisp air hit her outside, adrenalin gave way to queasiness.

Was this really happening already? Why the hell couldn't she stop picturing House's cocky smile?

Part of her was hoping that he'd be lurking outside, or lingering around the corner on his death-trap bike. Seeing that neither was the case, she began the short walk back to the hospital to collect her car. Why is it that on the nights when she didn't feel like going home there was never anyone good enough to go out with?

When she reached the parking lot, a thought struck her about a very private place with decent booze and no company. Perfect.

--

Grumbling at his own stupidity, House ambled along the corridor to his office. Of all the things to forget, his house keys were by far the most inconvenient. It meant dragging his cold and angry self from his apartment door back to the hospital after 5pm, something he actively avoided unless a life was hanging in the balance. He wondered if the chickenshit cheater had admitted his sins to Cuddy yet. He almost wished he'd hung around to see her redecorate the place with smashed crockery. Still, the Greeks were used to that kind of thing; they probably wouldn't press charges.

He was pleased to find his office unlocked since the cleaning staff had an unfortunate habit of locking it each evening, and his only key was on the same keychain that lurked somewhere in the glass-walled depths. He closed the door behind him, humming "The Times They Are A-Changin'" under his breath. He flipped on the light.

His heart stopped for an instant.

He was acutely aware of the skipped beat as he took in the unexpected sight of his boss sprawled in his desk chair, headphones on and bottle of tequila dangling dangerously from her left hand. Her eyes opened lazily at the sudden burst of light, and he knew that she must be pretty far gone when she didn't even blink at his appearance.

Even at this late hour, some of the insufferable kiss-asses who shared "his" floor would still be working. If nothing else, he didn't want to be blamed for Cuddy's embarrassment when she sobered up. Reaching for the cord on the blinds, he almost snapped the flimsy string in his haste to achieve a little privacy.

"Why Dr. Cuddy, you drunken lush!" He said saucily. He kept it light, allowing some of his amusement to fire the opening shot.

Whether she heard him or simply decided it was time to acknowledge the obvious presence in the room, Cuddy clumsily removed the headphones from her messy curls.

"Shut up, House. Why shouldn't I have a little drink? God knows you rattle round this hospital like a bottle of Jack made human. Why should you have all the fun?"

House winced at the sharp notes that punctuated her words. Alcohol brought out the real Cuddy, the one who grew up in Jersey and didn't smooth out her consonants to try and sound a little more Park Avenue than Newark.

"I'm not drunk right now. Doubt I could catch up on you. There can't be a drop of alcohol left in Princeton."

She waved the tequila bottle at him with a lazy smile, and he grumbled at the sight of the almost empty bottle.

"Still a few drops in here. I bet you've got plenty more stashed all over this hospital. Don't start with me."

He crossed the room to join her behind his desk. She regarded him with heavy-lidded eyes as he pressed eject on the stereo to see which of his CDs she had plundered. Predictably, she'd just pressed _Play_ with whatever he'd left in there and so had been treated to some Janis Joplin. Well, if she'd been hoping for the best of Heart, she came to the wrong place. Which led to the question of why she was there at all and so he asked her.

"Wanted to go somewhere with alcohol and not be disturbed. Figured I was safe here 'til about lunchtime."

She was slurring slightly, punctuating her half-explanation with a hearty slug of tequila.

"Why? Fight with your boyfriend?"

Her face crumpled at his suggestion. There was no sign of tears but the mascara smudges under her eyes betrayed that some had already escaped tonight.

"Oh, like you don't know. It's what you were aiming for, turning up like… something that always turns up."

House forgot to smirk at her drunken lack of eloquence, an unfamiliar sick feeling in the pit of his stomach. This was the part where he gets to witness just how much Cuddy had been hurt. Previously, he might have enjoyed the _schadenfreude_ or the potential leverage. But now it felt like a car accident he couldn't look away from.

"He told you then?"

Stop picking at the scab, he yelled internally. Just let her wallow, call a cab and get her home before she embarrasses herself and leave her lusting for your blood all week. He didn't want to think about how many clinic hours a mortified Cuddy would punish him with.

"Yeah, he told me. Tried to tell me who I could spend time with; he even tried to tell me I should fire you. Trying to tell me how to do my job, too, as well as running my life. Bastard."

House felt the dull roar of anger at the base of his skull. Had the loser boyfriend actually chickened out?

"So you fought with him for being bossy? That's all?"

"Isn't that enough?"

In her exasperation, Cuddy attempted to catapult herself into a standing position. Unfortunately for the Dean, her legs had other ideas and she would fallen face down on the floor if House hadn't stepped in to catch her. She could have moved away instantly, her balance restored by hitting his solid form. Instead, she felt her hands gripping the soft leather that covered his arms, her face turning to rest against his chest. She could feel the coolness of the outdoors on his shirt, the warmth underneath searing through the layers as she nestled against him. It felt terribly wonderful to be pressed up against him, and if she hadn't drowned her common sense in Jose Cuervo's embrace, it would be screaming at her right now.

Cuddy could feel him tensing up with every second that she didn't move. His breathing was quick and shallow, his heartbeat increasing. As long as they stood here like this, it didn't matter that there was a Zach, or a morning, or a building filled with people. All that mattered was that she felt grounded, like her real self. She didn't have to put on an act to be around him. She could be as bitchy or as light-hearted as she felt. House would push her buttons and sometimes she would play along; other times she'd shut him down. It was practically a routine, the one thing in the world she could count on.

What she didn't count on was House pulling back from her embrace. She definitely didn't expect him placing a gentle finger under her chin and pulling her into a soft kiss that made her last scraps of restraint explode like the most incredible internal fireworks display.

She was the one to deepen the kiss, taking it from tentative to passionate in a mere second. This time, she didn't want to be interrupted, didn't even want to think twice. For years, they'd been circling each other. That one torrid night that should have gotten it out of her system had simply turned the boiling heat down to a persistent simmer.

He broke their kiss far too soon. Before Cuddy could weigh the merits of desk versus armchair, House was speaking and putting the brakes on her decidedly more exciting plans.

"Cuddy, we can't." His words were a low moan. She could see the strain it was causing him to call a halt to this moment of madness.

"You're drunk, you're seeing someone. I'm not going to be an escape route for your pissiness."

No, no, this would simply not do. Cuddy was fired up and ready to go. Why was this idiot stopping her from getting what she wanted?

"First of all, _you_ kissed _me_. Second, don't try to tell me you don't want this. And second of all.."

"Cuddy, you can't even count to three! Don't do me any favors. I can get laid without getting the girl hammered first."

His eyes were cold in an instant; Cuddy could see the defenses going up. Did he really think she was trying to do him a favor?

She knew then what she had to do. Stepping back slightly, she began to unbutton her shirt, the white cotton crumpled from the hands that had been roving over it feverishly moments before.

"Stop it." His voice was more of a groan, and she could tell his resolve was waning.

Slowly, she eased her now open shirt down over her shoulders.

At that, he grabbed her and for a split second she thought she'd won him over.

"Put your clothes on. I'm going to call you a cab."

Cuddy felt tears welling up at the harshness of his rejection. Desperate to save face, she heard herself taunting him.

"Oh sure, House, now you're all talk. All those cracks you make about my body… Now, I'm offering myself to you on a plate and you don't have the balls to go through with it? Or are you trying to tell me you don't find me attractive?"

The last few words came out as a plea, a note of desperation in her voice that she could not control. He regarded her carefully, his eyes never straying below her face for the first time that she could remember. Cuddy struggled not to cry as she tugged hastily at her clothes.

"Oh you know I think you're hot," he began, his voice softer than she was used to. "But I don't want it like this. I want it to be about you and me, not because you've had a shitty day or because you feel sorry for me. Besides, if you're all emotional, you might not be doing your best work. I'd hate to settle for a fumble you'll regret."

She laughed at that, the tension finally beginning to ease.

"So, we should…" she began, but he cut her off with his usual rudeness.

"Get some sleep, come to work tomorrow like this never happened. If you want to sort out some things and come back to this, I'll see if I can fit you in."

Of course he wasn't promising to wait for her to get her life in order. Obviously he wouldn't admit that the idea of them together meant anything to him. This was House after all; she'd have more chances of getting the sun to revolve around the Earth. For all his boorish behavior, he had behaved like a gentleman, and even in the midst of her embarrassment and confusion, that meant a great deal to her.

Gathering her things, she retrieved her Blackberry and placed a call to her usual cab company. By the time she was done, he had retreated to the armchair, meaning she could leave without any obligation to touch him or say anything further. As she mustered her most confident stride, she detoured to press one last kiss on his willing lips.

"I'll be coming back, House. Don't go anywhere while you're waiting."

Three more strides and she was gone, hazily navigating the linoleum floors in search of the elevators and a safe route home.

In his office, House had forgotten all about his missing keys. He sat there in the dull glow of his office lights and replayed the last few minutes vividly, thanks to the photographic memory he had never been more grateful for.

Life had suddenly gotten _very_ interesting.

**A/N:** Don't worry, Zach doesn't get to weasel out of it, I just didn't think it was fair to crush Cuddy in the process. She's going to take care of business in the next couple of chapters though!


	13. Chapter 13

Chapter 13

Chapter 13

"**And I hope that if I found the strength to walk out**

**You'd stay the hell out of my way"**

There were days when her job had some additional perks, and Cuddy was grateful for it. Sure the killer paycheck, generous benefits and large amounts of job satisfaction were nice, but the sheer demands of the job on her free time could be a blessing when she wanted it that way.

Thanks to a burst of her usual diligence, the Day After House Kissed Her (How could she refer to it as anything else?) was busier than most people could have coped with. Back-to-back meetings, cheat sheets and agendas surveyed as she scurried in the hallways. Subsisting on takeout coffee and stale pastries in conference rooms – which only reminded her to look for a new catering firm – she managed to avoid both of the men in her increasingly complicated life.

Bert Thomas, the head of Accounting, struggled to get her attention at the best of times. So in the midst of his droning about the five-year financial projections she surprisingly felt little guilt about drifting off into her own thoughts. Besides, she'd seen his excruciatingly detailed email already and committed the numbers to memory as soon as she saw them. Which left her free to consider what exactly the hell was she playing at.

Zach had been weird at dinner, but then she hardly had the monopoly on having a stressful life. She knew that his ex-wife liked to mess around him over visitation rights for his daughter. Perhaps they had a disagreement? With the occasional distracted nod at Boring Bert, she mulled over exactly why she had stormed out of there like a moody teenager.

Something was wrong before House and his olive diversity lecture came onto the scene, she realized. She supposed she just didn't know Zach well enough yet to put her finger on the issue. It was what House called her 'spidey sense"; the same ability that allowed her to track him down to whichever crime scene he was creating in her hospital.

Which was really the problem: she couldn't think about Zach without relating everything to House. She used to complain that he dominated her working life to an unfair extent, but only because she allowed him free reign in her subconscious like this. Was it any wonder he was encroaching into her personal life with alarming regularity?

Not to mention that House had kissed her. _Really kissed her_.

Nothing accidental or forced about it. Oh, and she'd been seconds away from getting it on with him right there in his office.

Forcing herself to pay attention, she interceded in the flow of numbers and risk analysis to end the meeting before any board members decided that suicide was preferable to this level of tedium. She would worry about her life another time; for now there was a hospital to run.

But on day two, she wasn't quite so lucky. Arriving at her office, she found a forlorn Zach in the waiting area. Cuddy was a grown woman and she knew she couldn't avoid him forever, but a little longer would have been great. She'd ignored his voicemails and felt a little evil about it. Clearly he'd been upset enough to show up at the hospital.

She had decided in the shower that she was calling it off. Actually, she had decided about a second after her hands had made contact with House's leather jacket two nights ago, but her sense of propriety wouldn't let her dwell on that. Either way, the decision had been made and there was no way she was having this conversation here.

With a lukewarm greeting, she asked Zach to walk with her. The nearby memorial garden was as private a spot as she could think of in her confusion. They walked the short distance in silence, Zach with hands stuffed sulkily into the pockets of his jacket.

She sat on the slightly frosty bench, glad of her long wool coat. Fall was rapidly giving way to a bitter New Jersey winter and though she had grown up in them, getting older seemed to be making her soft. For a few seconds she watched her breath forming clouds before taking the plunge.

"I guess we have to talk."

His reaction was as cold as the air surrounding them.

"From the way you were ignoring me, I guess that jerk told you everything."

Alarm bells began to ring softly in Cuddy's head. Fragments of the conversation with House, Zach's defensive posture, it was all starting to head somewhere she didn't think she was going to like.

"Not everything, no." She was calling his bluff, years of playing headmistress to headstrong doctors had made her an expert in letting people incriminate themselves.

He turned his brown eyes on her, his hand reaching for hers across the wooden bench. Where he had been standoffish before, now he was almost pleading.

"You gotta understand, it was just one stupid night. I had a few drinks after you left for Connecticut, felt sorry for myself because you chose that asshole over me. Cindy showed up at my place and one thing just lead to another… I'm so sorry. Please believe me that I am sorry."

The sudden burst of anger in her chest was both sudden and surprising. Cuddy withdrew her hand from his so quickly that she almost broke his fingers.

"Are you telling me that you slept with your ex-wife? Because I went to a funeral?"

Any doctor at PPTH would have recognized that disturbingly calm, reasonable tone, like the slow suction of air before a building suddenly exploded. Any one of those doctors would also have possessed the good sense to make their escape as swiftly as possible .

Unfortunately for Zach, he just didn't know any better.

"I…I thought he told you. House said he would if I didn't. I wanted to be honest with you. Lisa, I was weak, it was a moment of madness. You know how I feel about you..."

Of all the reactions he expected, her laughter wasn't high on the list.

"Oh God, really? You're going to sit there and give me clichés? What was the little declaration of love for anyway? Trying to throw me off the trail? To think I felt bad about coming here to break up with you, and all this time you've been lying about this?"

"You're breaking up with me?" The fool tried the puppy-dog eyes one last time.

"Well if I wasn't before, I am now! God, when will I learn? Recently divorced, looks good on paper and it never works out. Clearly when a guy seems too perfect, it's because he's anything but! Did you really think you could throw out an 'I love you' and I'd just fall at your feet?"

Zach grasped desperately for her hand again, and was treated to one of her most icy glares for his troubles. If looks could break an arm, his would have snapped like a twig.

"Lisa, please, just give me a chance to make it up to you."

She regarded him thoughtfully, trying to remember what she had seen in this man who now filled her with equal parts rage and stone-cold apathy. The more devious side of her knew he would interpret her pause as actually considering another chance for him.

Which only proved he didn't know her very well after all.

"Why would I? I don't need you. You had your chance and you blew it. Don't call me or try to win me back. If we run into each other, smile and just keep on walking."

Rising from the bench, Cuddy folded her freezing fingers into the pockets of her coat. She took a few steps away from him and thankfully, he made no move to stop her. She paused, a particularly spiteful part of her decided it was worth a parting shot.

"Oh and Zach, just so you know? The last couple of times, I was faking. See ya!"

With that, she marched back along the gravel path and into the warmth of her hospital. The betrayal, the embarrassment was nothing she couldn't deal with. After all, did she really care when she was dumping him anyway? No, Lisa Cuddy had a new mission to occupy her: finding the unfortunately kissable man who had withheld information from her. When she got a hold of him, he was going to be very sorry.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

"House!"

Just when he thought he was safe, the summons came bouncing through the hallways of hardwood and glass. Wishing he still had the ability to sprint, he turned instead to face his doom. Cuddy had finally tracked him down on the second day after their alcohol-tinted encounter, and she didn't sound overly thrilled about it. Not to mention that any yelling she did now would make him late for Dr. Ramirez and that invariably meant she would make him work twice as hard in his therapy session.

"You bellowed?" he asked, careful to keep his tone neutral.

House hastily scanned her body language and expression for a hint as to how cataclysmic her rage might be. Unfortunately, her flushed complexion, clenched fists and extra-tense shoulders didn't bode well for his health and safety, nor did the icy glare currently cutting through him. She grabbed him roughly by the forearm and tugged him through the double doors to the stairwell, almost concussing him in the process.

"Hey, that door nearly hit me in the face. In some cultures, beating on cripples is frowned upon." House couldn't help but pout. He never liked being roughed up for no good reason.

Cuddy was in no mood to soothe his wounds, real or exaggerated.

"You _knew_ and you didn't tell me? Too busy laughing at me for picking another loser?" She spat out the words, the desire to pummel something surging through her veins.

House considered hedging, or injecting something of his usual wit. Something in his brain, or perhaps his all-too-kickable groin prompted him to take the sensible course just this once and admit what he knew.

"He finally 'fessed up? Took him long enough."

Cuddy didn't seem appeased by his honesty. If anything, it only made her angrier, which meant a mountain of clinic hours was on its way. She punctuated her next outburst by prodding him painfully in the chest.

"He told me because he thought you did. I went to break up with him only to be ambushed by a tearful confession straight out of _General Hospital_. Which begs the question of why _you_ didn't tell me? I suppose you were enjoying the thought of me suffering?"

Feeling his eyes narrow at the accusation, House thought it was about time he stood up for himself. Pausing as a nurse came running downstairs past them, he launched into his defense as soon as he heard the doors close.

"It was none of my business. You know how I hate to interfere."

Cuddy snorted derisively, and he noted the slight relaxation of her shoulders. Promising, but he wasn't out of the woods yet.

"I only found out by accident. I kicked his ass all over the quad and ordered him to tell you. Obviously, I scared him a little too much."

She rolled her eyes, not fooled by his macho bragging now or any other time.

"I didn't tell you because I didn't want to be the one to hurt you. God knows I can find enough ways on my own. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have a very hot woman waiting for me."

Sweeping off with feigned hurt, or as best as he could feign anything while negotiating his cane and a heavy door, House left a speechless Dean on the landing.

Her blinding rage gave way to a feeling not unlike being sucker-punched. After the roller-coaster ride of the past few days, was House now running off with some random woman? Wasn't she clear about him waiting for her?

Her first instinct was to follow him and give him a taste of his own snooping medicine, but it was quickly nixed as she realized he was far too good at avoiding her for that to work. Luckily, years of experience had taught her every way of getting information about House. The easiest way was currently in his own office up on the fourth floor, or at least he should be. Calculating how long she could keep her ten o'clock appointment waiting, she figured it was worth risking a pissed-off interviewee and so she set off upstairs.

James Wilson was calmly reviewing patient files when the small, localized tornado hit his office. It had been a while since Cuddy in full power had crashed through his door, but as a sign of normality returning, it was almost welcome. Sadly, it was still a warning that either he was in trouble or was about to get himself into some, no doubt because of House. It felt almost like old times.

"Where is House going right now? I just saw him and he said something about seeing a hot woman. Which, obviously, I object to. As his boss, I object to it, because he is supposed to be working for me and not picking up women."

Wilson wasn't sure what Cuddy was raving about. As far as he knew, House had a clear morning. Except for his appointment with Dr. Ramirez who, in fairness, was pretty good-looking; her girlfriend certainly seemed to think so. Which meant House still hadn't told Cuddy about the program, and Cuddy was jealous at the misunderstanding about who House was dating.

Interesting, he thought to himself. He would have completed the thought with the arched finger gesture of a Bond villain if not for the death glare currently emanating from the powerful woman opposite him.

"You'll have to ask House what he's doing. Anything I know is privileged. Doctor-patient confidentiality."

The sweet smile Cuddy tried on him wasn't entirely convincing.

"Why go to all that trouble when you can just tell me now? If it is medical, which I don't believe for a second, I could get it from pulling his file."

Wilson stood up from his chair, unable to stop smirking.

"Be my guest, computer's all yours if you want it. Just remember that I gave you no information; you found it all by yourself."

There was no mistaking the flickers of panic and worry that crossed Cuddy's face as she pushed past him to log on to his computer terminal. She drummed her fingers impatiently at the time it took for the appropriate software to load, but before she could vent her frustration on Wilson, she had access to the mainframe and was searching for House's file. Wilson, for safety's sake, had retreated to the furthest corner of the room. He pretended to be admiring the view from his window as he waited, as if the parking lot was something worthy of a poem.

Cuddy couldn't contain her gasp of amazement as she absorbed the newest details on House's medical record. The Pain Management Program was one of her pet projects at the hospital, and her zeal in securing the funding had been largely motivated by guilt and the vain hope of getting House to participate. She'd given up on him accepting two years ago when he refused time after time, even to acknowledge its existence. She sought Wilson's confirmation, scowling slightly at his drama-queen need for distance.

"Is this true? He's actually had two appointments already? Without being tossed out or killing anyone on staff?"

Wilson nodded, and with this proof she felt her earlier rage subsiding. It was replaced by something she'd almost forgotten about: hope. Wilson obviously noticed the change, and issued his typically practical warning.

"Don't get your hopes up, Cuddy, he could still change his mind. He's always going to need some pain medication, but if this can get him to try and improve his quality of life even temporarily, it's a good thing. We can't put any pressure on it."

She returned his earlier nod, admitting that what he said was most likely true.

"It's just that for the first time in, I don't know how long, he's trying. Really trying. I thought he'd given up on ever improving. I don't know what to make of it. What made him decide now?"

Try as she might, she couldn't keep the excitement out of her voice. Not that she believed in people changing, not fundamentally. She did believe that people were capable of attempting to help themselves though, and it seemed that House was finally proving her right.

"He won't say. You know you can't get a straight answer. I thought maybe something his mom said before… Well, whatever the reason, I'm glad he's doing it." Wilson did look happy, something she hadn't seen these past few months. Perhaps not the boyish exuberance they were all used to, but any smile on his face was a great improvement, and Cuddy was pleased that the rumors about the mended friendship were true after all.

She made her excuses and started to leave, wondering if her very delayed interviewee had given up yet. Wilson stopped her with a question.

"Cuddy, is there something going on? Anything I should know about?"

The pointed glare over her shoulder didn't silence like him like it normally would have. With a sigh, she gave the only non-answer she could think of.

"Nothing you should know about. Though God knows you usually find out anyway. Bye, Wilson. I'll see you at the meeting later."

Cuddy could have sworn that she _felt_ his smirk all the way down the corridor.


	14. Chapter 14

Chapter 14

Chapter 14

"**I am drowning, **

**There is no sign of land"**

As the door of his apartment with its tarnished brass "B" finally loomed in front of him, House allowed himself a sigh of relief. The day had been particularly torturous, with a flu epidemic keeping him in the clinic for more hours than he could stand. Only his physical therapy appointment had managed to get him out of that hellhole, with the added bonus of Cuddy's absence giving him room to leave unquestioned.

She was having another of her "busy and important" days where he only saw her along hallways or amidst boring men in suits. No eye contact and no opportunity to get in her face at all meant it was pretty much a wasted day.

While he wasn't really complaining, things were getting a little confusing. She of the inconveniently alluring funbags had been invading his thoughts to a frightening extent. Which was probably directly related to the kissing that seemed to keep happening a lot lately, though he couldn't be sure. House wasn't too worried, though. If she was still yelling at him in the corridors then things weren't getting too weird yet. Most importantly, he'd have to concoct a suitable revenge for her delaying him a couple of days ago. Dr. Ramirez had a sadistic streak to rival his own and the extra reps on all his exercises had left him fantasizing about collapsing on the couch the moment he got home.

He turned his key in the lock with barely contained joy. Skimming his backpack across the room like an oversized hockey puck, he entered his lair, flicking on the light before removing his jacket. House completed his routine, though he'd deny ever being so organized, by hooking his cane over the doorjamb and hobbling towards the promised land of leather-cushioned salvation.

Until that moment, he hadn't known he had it in him to scream like a little girl.

Catching his breath, he chastised the intruder.

"Holy mother of …"

"That's a little too Catholic for an atheist like you." Cuddy's smile could have powered the Eastern seaboard for a month. He couldn't recall the last time he'd seen her so happy, so open about any emotion. None of which removed the urge to wipe it off her silly face immediately.

"What the hell are you doing, lying on my sofa in the dark? You scared the crap out of me!"

"Yes, your _masculine_ roar gave that away," she deadpanned.

In spite of himself, he felt that familiar stirring of lust that he'd been repressing so well for so many years. There was nothing sexier than a woman who knew the value of decent sarcasm, or at least one who could be sarcastic while in possession of a body like Cuddy's.

"Mockery, from the woman intent on terrifying a guy who's had two heart attacks. Are you sure you went to med school? Because sudden shocks like finding a scary monster in my apartment are bad for people like me."

The heavy-lidded look she gave him did nothing to quell a barrage of inappropriate

thoughts. Why did she have to look so damn _right,_ sprawled across his furniture like that?

"You don't think I'm a monster." There was a barely noticeable hint of a purr in her voice.

House felt flustered, never a good sign for him. He was torn between throwing her out and getting duct tape for his mouth so he wouldn't say anything that would make her leave. Knowing he was likely to screw it up no matter what, he tried to speak nicely to her.

"What are you doing in my apartment, devil woman? Did you threaten Wilson for his key?"

Well, nice by his standards.

There was something predatory about the way she was sitting there. Her shoes kicked off, her short but gorgeous legs stretched out. The suit jacket he'd seen her in hours before was nowhere in sight, leaving her in a skirt that rode up very pleasantly and a tight top that left him at serious risk of standing at attention involuntarily.

Her direct gaze was almost unnerving, and that was when he understood what was different: she was no longer distracted. Good news: It meant the other loser was off the scene. On the other hand, it also meant there was absolutely nowhere to hide when Cuddy got him in her crosshairs.

Unable to stand any longer, he surrendered to his aching thigh and sat gingerly on his piano stool, not trusting any distance less than that.

"I didn't need a key. I learned how to pick a lock long before you ever needed to."

House raised his eyebrows in surprise, unsure if she was lying.

"My mom used to lock our toys away if we were naughty and I couldn't sleep without my bear. Why beg to get something back when you can get it yourself?"

He hated to admit it, but he was a little impressed. It shouldn't have surprised him, Cuddy hadn't always been this straitlaced enforcer of the rules, not if her days at Michigan were anything to go by. Even when she was behaving, she broke some rules back then, like organizing the library study-ins to protest for 24-hour access during exam periods. Maybe she was just used to getting what she wanted, but what did she want here?

"Did you happen to break in with food? I'm starving."

For a moment neither of them spoke, as Cuddy weighed her options.

"No, I came here to talk to you, not cater for you."

Shifting to get more comfortable on the worn-out stool, House made an impatient gesture with his hand to make her continue.

"I discovered something the other day. I'd like to talk about it without you reacting like a petulant child. Can you promise me that you'll hear me out?"

House shrugged with his typical nonchalance, but his curiosity was most definitely piqued.

"Can't promise how I'll react until I know what I'm reacting to."

She bit her lip to stop herself reacting with a smart-ass comment of her own. This was delicate enough without pissing him off right off the bat.

"You finally signed up with the PMP? The same program you told me was a bunch of hippy-dippy crap staffed by college dropouts with an unhealthy addiction to patchouli?"

"You color code your underwear." His retort was a little sulkier than he had intended, but it at least derailed her train of thought slightly.

"What the hell does that have to do with anything, House?"

"I thought we were sharing information we weren't supposed to have. The kind you get by invading the privacy of others?" Even without the benefit of a mirror, he knew he was sporting an impressive little pout.

Instead of the expected sympathy and flustered apologies, the response was only laughter from Cuddy. She was lucky she had such a dirty laugh, or he might start getting his feelings hurt.

"I'm trying to think of something more ironic than Greg House lecturing me on respecting boundaries." It was getting harder to understand her through the relentless giggles. "I struck out."

He sighed and stared at the floor as he waited for the laughter to subside. It didn't take long. He knew all too well that Cuddy couldn't help but intervene when she saw him looking forlorn.

"Seriously, House, why now? I've been on your ass about something like this for years and then you just up and start on one of the most demanding regimens in the country."

Cuddy wasn't sprawled now; she was sitting bolt upright with her laser-like attention fully on him. If moving wasn't such a painful prospect, he might have squirmed under her gaze.

"Are you pissed that it took so long, or are you pissed that I didn't tell you?"

She narrowed her eyes dangerously and he felt his hands tense reflexively at the warning sign.

"You think I'm angry about this? The best news I've heard in 10 years, and you think I'm here to tell you off for being a naughty boy? Hell, I almost turned a cartwheel in the corridor when I found out! I just wanted to know why you changed your mind."

"It's as good a time as any. You're the one always telling me that the reasons don't matter. So quit it with the third degree. It's between me and all the dead women I make promises to."

Ah damn, he hadn't meant to say that last part out loud. This stupid program and reducing his meds was leaving him in a pain-haze, his already limited filters barely working at all in his agitation. He stood up and motioned towards the front door with his head.

"You're throwing me out? After everything that's been going on lately, now you decide you don't want me around?"

She was on her feet and up in his face before he had time to think. Why did he have to like women who got off on confrontation? All House could think about was getting her out of there, busting out one of his secret stashes and retiring to bed for a pity party.

"Ok, for a start, you're on the rebound. You were the one who kissed me in the first place, and you're already getting carried away with sick fantasies about how happy I'll be when the miracle cure kicks in."

He wasn't expecting her to slap him, but the faint sting on his left cheek confirmed that it had just happened. Cuddy looked as shocked as he did at her reaction, but it was quickly replaced with indignation.

"Dammit, how many times do I have to tell you that I'm not naïve? I don't imagine for a second that anything could make you stop being mean for sport, or breaking rules. Even if this program works, you'll still have good days and bad days. Good ones you remember to exercise and take the minimum number of pills. Bad ones you hide from the world and pop Vicodin like Tic-Tacs. All I've ever wanted is for the ratio to improve. I want fewer bad days for you."

And that was more than he could deal with. His leg was killing him, the reduction to sane levels of narcotics had left him raw and edgy and he had to do something to shut her up. It was suddenly and desperately important that she stop talking, that she stop caring about him and his miserable existence. Too many of the emotions he generally ignored were bobbing around on the surface and he couldn't risk giving himself away.

Since it seemed to be part of their routine lately, he stepped forward into the measly few inches of space between them and proceeded to kiss the hell out of her.

It definitely shut her up, save for one soft moan of surprise when their lips first met. As an added bonus, he felt the first surges of adrenalin and endorphins, not quite enough to counter the screaming protest from his thigh muscles but enough to take the edge off. He felt her hands balling into fists, the fabric of his shirt pulled taut in them. For his part he allowed his hands to drift from her hips, where he had first grabbed her, until his long fingers were tangled in her unruly hair.

This time there was no holding back, no niggling concerns like boyfriends or blood-alcohol levels.

House was tempted to keep his eyes open, to see what she looked like as she kissed him, but they involuntarily fluttered shut as the kiss deepened. Like everything else between them it quickly became a battle, their tongues dueling insistently for control as they pressed their bodies together. House knew he couldn't last much longer like this and although it almost killed him, he pulled away from her.

"Oh God, not again! What now, I'm wearing the wrong shade of lipstick?"

Cuddy's face was flushed, her state of arousal apparent in her darkened eyes. Her lips pursed in disapproval and it was all House could do not to ignore his imminent collapse and start kissing her all over again. With his last remaining shred of restraint, he limped away from her and sank heavily into the couch cushions. Not one to let him get away so easily, Cuddy followed him and sat next to him, the side of her slender thigh pressing against his injured one.

"House, what's wrong?" Her irritation had evaporated, concern returning in floods.

"There are many, many things that are wrong. Shouldn't you be freaking out? You're my boss, I'm a jerk. You're on the rebound and you hate me half the time. I'm never gonna be the 2.4 kids type of guy, and you don't have time to waste on another idiot."

He was perfectly calm in relaying all of this to her, knowing only too well how much she hated to be told what to think or do.

"So you finally admit you're an idiot? This day just gets better and better."

Cuddy was throwing him off tonight. Whenever he expected her to zig, she zagged. Frankly, it was beginning to make him feel a little dizzy.

"I know exactly what you're like, and yet I keep letting this kind of thing happen. Doesn't that give you some kind of clue? That maybe I want to be here, that I want to stop all the dancing around and just get on with it? You're right, neither of us is getting any younger. Don't you want to just see how it goes?"

She reached for his hand and was relieved when he accepted the contact, not pulling away from her.

"That's not enough for you. You have dreams. Ridiculous, girly dreams that are beneath you, but you have them nonetheless."

House couldn't meet her eyes, and she realized what must be wrong.

"What's with the sudden attack of modesty? You usually can't wait to tell everyone that you're God's gift to women. Do you really think we need to sit here to have a deep and meaningful conversation about my feelings, or could it be that your unbearable arrogance has finally been affected by the fact that you're putting your body through hell right now?"

That pushed his buttons, exactly as she hoped for.

"Trust me, Cuddy, even with the agony I'm in I could still give you the best night of your life. So I'm a little concerned I won't be able to use my full repertoire thanks to the evil Ramirez. Isn't that the kind of humility you're always telling me to try?"

With great care, Cuddy pulled herself across his lap, settling her weight on his good leg. Leaning in to whisper in his ear, she let one hand stray to the bulge in his jeans that contradicted every cautious word he'd uttered.

"So we leave the athletic stuff for another night. I have a pretty good idea of something else I can do for you right here." Her voice and her face were positively wanton.

An actual whimper escaped his lips as he felt the undeniable sensation of his zipper being lowered. Scarcely able to believe his own capacity for sabotage, he made one last-ditch attempt to stop the proceedings. He knew this could never be a one-night stand and he was as terrified as he was unbearably horny.

"Don't you… _oh fuck_… want to set some guidelines? What about _my _feelings? We haven't discussed those."

In response, Cuddy simply pulled her top over her head and leaned in for a forceful kiss.

"I don't want to have sex with your feelings. So shut up and let me do this."

His eyes widened as she slipped from his thigh to kneel in front of him. Any idiotic notions of stopping her disappeared in an instant. He _was_ only human, after all. They'd worry about life being complicated later.


	15. Chapter 15

Chapter 15

Chapter 15

"**You are coming down with me**

**Hand in unlovable hand"**

Cuddy collapsed against his half-naked body, the last few sparks of her orgasm firing powerfully through her body. It didn't strike her as odd that she was straddling House on his beat-up sofa, her skirt hiked around her waist. It didn't quite register for her that her panties had been torn off and thrown carelessly in their haste to bring their bodies together. For once, she didn't give a damn about the details because she'd just had really _incredible_ sex.

House, for his part, was just glad that she didn't end up killing him in the process. He didn't mind anyway because it would have been a hell of a way to go. His heart rate was somewhere in the range that would have a cardiologist telling him off, but it was entirely worth it.

Much as he tried to shut his brain up, he couldn't help but notice how nice this part felt, too: Cuddy's warm skin against his own, her delicate but strong arms wound around his neck. She was resting more against his left thigh than his right; even in her addled state she was considerate of him. She was pretty far gone if her enthusiastic response a few moments ago was any indication.

House couldn't hide his smug grin as he mentally replayed exactly how well he had gotten her off.

"Wow, Cuddy, that was…"

"Shut up!" Her words were practically a groan. "Do not spoil this moment by comparing me to a hooker or whatever image you came up with."

She eased herself from his lap, mourning the loss of contact from the very second she broke it. Pulling the throw from the back of the sofa, she dropped it lazily over them, instinctively curling into his side. She was both shocked and pleased when he put his arm around her and pulled her closer into an embrace of sorts. Who would have thought the prickly Greg House cuddled after sex? He certainly didn't the last time around.

"I was only going to say that it was amazing."

There was no petulance in his tone, just a quiet statement of fact. Cuddy felt a little bad for misjudging him, only to have her suspicions confirmed moments later.

"Though since you mention it, there was an almost professional standard to your work."

Unwilling to move from the perfection of her current spot, she settled for bashing him lightly with her head.

"We should move. This can't be good for your leg. Don't you need Vicodin?"

Doctorly concern was kicking in as her buzz softly faded.

"Enabler! I'm on a reduced dose, not supposed to take my next lot for another hour." Mouth agape in pretend shock, House clearly his usual self, sex or no amazing sex.

At that Cuddy sat bolt upright, not caring that her naked breasts were freed from the confines of the blanket. This was hardly the time for modesty.

"Are you telling me that you agreed to have your medication regulated? After years of bitching and moaning and almost going to jail? After almost sending _me_ to jail? What the hell does Dr. Ramirez have on you?"

He met her eyes with a steely glare.

"She's in love with me, wants me to get all better so we can live happily ever after."

"Ana is a _lesbian._"

"Until she met me, maybe. Anyway, you're the one who's been pimping me the whole deal. Don't you know what it actually involved?"

Cuddy drew the blanket around herself, feeling the sudden chill in the room.

"I assumed you were doing the minimum – a few exercises, maybe a counseling session if you didn't get thrown out. I happen to know the physical therapy alone is excruciating. I thought you'd postpone the drug reduction for a few months, if not forever."

House folded his arms defensively across his bare chest.

"You never did have any faith in me."

His words stung her more than she wanted to believe. How could he accuse her of that, of all things?

"I have always kept faith in you, even when you've given me every reason not to. I was just surprised you were doing the full program from the start."

He looked tired all of a sudden, the endorphins that had been easing his pain must be fading by now. Rubbing at his eyes, he let the confrontation slip away from him.

"I don't want to fight. Just for once, I want to not have to fight. I'm trying. I'm making no promises, so don't give me all your expectations. This is what it is. Right now, I want to go to bed."

Cuddy realized she had a chance to recapture the moment she had almost spoiled with her disbelief.

"Want me to come with you?" The smile she used on him was unfairly seductive.

He nodded in assent, grateful that he didn't have to ask for her help. There was no way his protesting thigh was about to let him take more than one step unaided. They were almost at his bedroom door, Cuddy propping him up as they went, when he chose to speak again.

"So you know Ramirez likes chicks, huh? _Please _tell me you know from personal experience. Hell, even if you don't, make it up for my bedtime story."

The mildly lecherous look he gave her as they stumbled naked into his bed was enough to make her laugh out loud. House would always be House, and for all her frustrations, it was exactly how Cuddy liked him.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Cuddy rearranged the few sparse items on her desk out of boredom. Predictably, House was screwing with her by taking forever and a day to respond to her page. He was probably waiting behind the clinic desk, waiting for her to give up and start on something else, before he would make an appearance. Just as she was considering replies to the last few emails she had received, he came barreling through her office door, not bothering to close it behind him.

He looked good, standing there in a rumpled red t-shirt and dark jeans. God knew where his blazer - the one concession to work attire - had gone. Cuddy hoped some obnoxious patient had vomited on it, just to teach House a lesson. Whatever the reason, she was grateful for the chance to observe the contours of his well-defined arms. Thoughts like those she quickly dismissed, especially since they were most of the reason she had paged him to her office. Before she could launch into her carefully prepared speech, he began one of his own.

"I assume you summoned me either to tell me 'This can never happen again' or to tell me the exhaustive list of rules you've compiled because we both know it's going to happen again. Which one is it?"

That deflated her; she snapped her mouth closed and pouted at him a little. For House, she had an array of facial expressions, and she could feel the one that just screamed "Busted!" on her face right then.

"So you were aiming for the former but knew it would be the latter. Interesting." He made no effort to hide his smug grin.

Flustered again by his insight, Cuddy tried to regain the upper hand she had once been so adept at maintaining.

"It's worth… exploring. And of course, there would have to be some rules. You're bad enough most of the time without thinking you can do what you want because you're sleeping with the boss."

She caught him unawares with that much honesty, but he recovered quickly.

"Well, in fairness, the whole hospital already thinks that's why I can do pretty much whatever I want."

Rolling her eyes, she attempted to get the conversation back on track.

"As I was saying…"

"Yeah, yeah, I can guess. No gossiping, no asking for favors, no sex at work. All the usual, boring stuff."

She sat back in her chair, relaxing at the prospect of House taking her seriously for once.

"Hardly unreasonable. I don't know what you expect from… us, but I'd like to at least have a repeat of last night. You don't blab to the entire hospital, although I've accepted that you'll tell Wilson, and just maybe I won't kill you in your sleep."

He laughed at that. Not a belly laugh, but the short snappish one she'd forgotten he possessed.

"I'll behave, Cuddy, if it means regular trips to your pleasure portal."

The wink that accompanied his reply was enough to make her laugh as well. One of these days, she might even get him to stop using ludicrous words to describe her assets, but she wouldn't bet her life on it.

"Don't behave too much, or I won't have an excuse to spank you, now will I?"

His eyes went saucer-wide at that little remark. It was gratifying to know she hasn't lost her ability to shock him.

"Now get out of my office as some of us plan on doing some work in the next six hours. You have a patient but try not to break any equipment, or you know, any laws today if you can avoid it."

Cuddy could have no inkling that in five hours she'd be chasing him down a corridor, screaming at him for breaking the portable CT scanner just to prove a point to his whiny patient. For the moment, she was content to smile at him and wonder how soon she could have him in her bed. All of a sudden, her evening looked remarkably clear.

He left with a parting shot about her ass, as much for her benefit as for any eavesdroppers in the clinic. She supposed it would be more suspicious if he started acting responsibly for a change. Cuddy also assumed that she must be approaching certifiable status to have slept with House and worse still, be looking forward to doing it again.

The weird part was that she didn't feel anxious or worried like she usually did when doing something so unusual. In fact, like one of House's crackpot ideas, this whole 'thing" between them might actually be crazy enough to work.


	16. Chapter 16

Chapter 16: Epilogue

Chapter 16: Epilogue.

"**I hope you die, I hope we both die"**

House sat on the edge of the bed, his legs idly dangling as he watched Cuddy pulling faces at herself in the mirror. She was oblivious to him, her hands hypnotic in their constant motion. In one instant she was smoothing the soft fabric of her dress, her pale pink nails matched perfectly to its design. The next she was fussing with her curls, rearranging them in a way that made any change imperceptible as soon as she stopped. Turning this way and that, her relentless appraisal was providing him with quite a floor show.

As her features contorted in the unfortunate lipstick application pose, House heard her grumbling over the music he was playing. Though he didn't catch every word, the sentiment was clearly along the lines of whose brilliant idea this was, how she wasn't fit to be seen in public and the entire night was a disaster so inevitable even George Bush could see it coming. As he was beginning to enjoy the flow of her rather impressive litany, they were interrupted by an abrupt knock on the front door.

Cuddy turned on him them, eyes flashing dangerously.

"I'm not ready! Can't you stall him?"

Ignoring the wheedling tone in her voice, House attempted to end any further protests by placing a tender kiss on her collarbone as he stood behind her (He wasn't foolish enough to risk disturbing the makeup that had been applied with an intricacy that made lacework seem clumsy).

"You're as ready as you'll ever be."

She placed her hands on his forearms as they encircled her waist.

"Be grateful I didn't insist you wear a tux tonight. How do I look?"

"Like you always do: a desperate woman with a rockin' bod. Just remember you don't need to see anyone's checkbook tonight, ok?"

With that parting shot, he limped out of his bedroom and went to answer the door. He'd never understand how he let Cuddy talk him into these things, but a little sacrifice was worth it for the perks being with her provided, something so ridiculous he'd ever admit to another living soul.

Opening the door with an exaggerated sigh, he whispered urgently to the man standing there.

"I got ten bucks with your name on it if you drive around the block a couple of times. Woman trouble."

Unfortunately for House, his father had never been impressed by any of his idiotic quips in almost 50 years. Tonight was no exception.

Shrugging off his father's stony silence, he accepted the proffered bottle of red wine, smirking slightly at the conversation it would most likely provoke. He'd been spoiling for a fight since being forced into the clinic that morning and Cuddy thoughtlessly primping and preening all afternoon leaving him without a sparring partner. Loosening the knot on the tie he had stolen from Wilson's office, he followed his father into the living room, nodding vaguely at the sofa to suggest he take a seat.

Without being told, House went straight to his drinks cabinet and poured his father a generous measure of bourbon. He handed it over and watched suspiciously as the older man subjected his surroundings to the usual level of scrutiny, even tutting as he surveyed the guitars pinned to the wall. Aware that the lack of conversation was making for an exceptionally oppressive silence, House was grateful that Cuddy chose that moment to make her entrance.

When she did, it completely escaped his memory that he had seen her only a few moments before. The soft light of the living room showed her off to fantastic effect, the summer dress she'd chosen bringing out her best features. In fact, he was hard-pressed to spot a single flaw.

He was practically mesmerized as he watched her warmly greet his father, addressing him as "Colonel" because she knew the rank deserved respect. For what it was worth, his father seemed completely taken with her, the sadness of their previous meeting seemed like a long time ago. He reminded her once again to call him John and Cuddy gave him a smile that almost made House jealous.

One of the major side effects of hating 99 of humanity was a complete lack of ability for small talk. Thankfully, Cuddy could talk enough pointless crap for ten people and despite himself, he was drawn into her conversation about how beautiful the Caribbean was. He had been distinctly unimpressed by the Bahamas a few years ago when Stacy insisted they have a real break for once. Typically, he'd enjoyed the rum more than his surroundings. Listening to Cuddy wax lyrical about the Virgin Islands and the Dominican Republic though, he felt a strange urge to call a travel agent.

Cuddy left them to check on dinner, causing both men to fall back into their regular stony silence. House sighed with the effort, but tried anyway.

"How's the fishing?"

"Fine, good."

House grit his teeth at his father's stunted sentences.

Just moments ago he had been competing with Cuddy to see who could say the most asinine thing about the beautiful beaches in St. Thomas, and now he was practically mute. Cuddy's request for assistance in the kitchen had House scrambling off the sofa as quickly as he could manage in a long time, despite the twinges of pain still fizzing through his thigh. All the therapy in the world wasn't going to undo that damage, but even House had to admit it was much more manageable these days.

He joined her willingly in the kitchen, hoping this meant a little bit of cheeky fondling before dinner. His disgust at being handed a spoon and told to stir was almost comical.

"How's it going?" Cuddy asked to see what he would tell her though she'd been able to hear their lack of conversation quite clearly.

"The man won't shut up! Can't get a word in, same as ever." He shot back, not bothering to keep his voice down.

She sidled up to him at the stove, slapping at his hand.

"I asked you to stir the sauce, not splash it all over the kitchen. Get back in there and make nice."

Predictably, he had no intention of doing as he was told, but liberation from sauce duty left his arm free to wrap around her waist. For a moment, his hand rested on the slight curve that had developed on her stomach, fingers softly beating a rhythm that matched Cuddy's rotation of the wooden spoon.

"Think he's guessed why he's here yet? I mean, you are getting pretty fat."

Cuddy's elbow connected with his ribcage but the lack of malice left him relatively uninjured.

"House, you promised you would behave. We are going to make this announcement like adults. Consider it practice for when my father attempts to kill you next weekend."

For all his bravado, she could immediately sense the tension that gripped his body. The great Gregory House, actually caring what impression he made for once. Well, until he got bored and started making insinuations about her parents' marriage or her sister's sexuality. Still, that was a week away; she could worry about damage control once they had a pleasant meal with House senior and informed him about his impending grandchild.

His head was resting on hers, chin buried in her hair with no regard to whether he was casually undoing hours of careful preparation. She was getting used to it, slowly but surely. People might not change, but he could occasionally do the dishes if she could swap power suits for jeans every now and then.

Funny what ceased to matter when you had something more exciting to do than going home to a ready meal for one every night. When he spoke after a peaceful moment of watching her cook, she could feel his deep voice vibrating in his throat and chest.

"You know, there's gonna be a certain expectation. I knocked you up, people are gonna think there should be an overpriced diamond somewhere in the equation."

A more foolish woman might have jumped to a romantic conclusion, answered a question that had not in fact been asked. Cuddy did her best to disguise the fact that her breath had caught in her throat, simply nodding as though they were discussing the weather.

"You did knock me up, though you may want to work on that phrasing when it comes to other people."

Ignore that he had said anything else, she said to herself. That was the only way to handle House when he thought aloud.

"Now, from your Oscar-worthy performance as someone not interested in things like marriage, I can tell that I have your attention. You also know me, tradition and contracts aren't really my thing. So I'm not going to ask you that. Maybe I never will."

She may have been the walking definition of pragmatism, but something still felt suspiciously like tears prickling behind her eyes at his words.

Cuddy the administrator might have entered into this insanity of a relationship with lowered expectations and fewer demands, but Cuddy the endocrinologist could list off the countless hormones circulating in her bloodstream that really didn't need inconvenient emotions to spur them on.

Intent on getting this dinner over and done with, she pulled away from him and stepped across the kitchen to rummage for the plates she would need. It surprised her when he stepped in front of her, piercing blue eyes locked on her own.

"I might not ask you that. I might never do anything people might expect of a normal guy, but there is one thing I do want to ask you."

"Then ask, House, but if this is another question about sex during pregnancy I'm going to beat you to death with _What To Expect_".

"Is there any chance, even a small one, that you might consider sticking around? You know like forever? Or at least until one of us is dead."

Cuddy's brow furrowed in confusion.

"What are you actually asking me, House? That doesn't make a whole lot of sense."

"I'm saying that I don't want to dress up like a penguin and see you imitating a Christmas tree fairy. Not now, not ever. You might stand a chance if you get me drunk and drag me to Vegas, but otherwise, never gonna happen. _However_, I'm trying to tell you that I'm in. Not just because of the demon spawn, but somebody has to love those rapidly expanding funbags. I think it's kinder just not to mention your ass at all, if I'm honest."

He kept his voice purposefully light, as though he was reading the cinema listings for her to choose the movie, but she knew without doubt that he was serious for once.

Hell, how was she supposed to stop the tears at that? Other men might have quoted a long-dead English poet, or worse, a really cheesy song lyric. Instead, he was trying to kill her with an overdose of his version of romance.

"I'm not planning on going anywhere, House."

He raised his hand slowly to her face, the coarseness of his thumb surprisingly gentle as it swept away the escaping tears. When his mouth captured hers in one of the slow, probing kisses she had happily gotten used to, she couldn't help but moan quietly at the contact. Far too quickly, he pulled away from her, leaving her grumbling in frustration.

"Good. Now, let's feed the company before he starts chewing on the furniture."

They completed the preparation in record time, serving up dinner at the small dining table that Cuddy had insisted on retrieving from the junk depository that masqueraded as a spare room. Small talk persisted over the soup, the only awkwardness when the inevitable topic of coping without Blythe came up.

The big announcement came over roast lamb, and even House was stunned by the joy on his father's face.

"I thought the family name was going to die out with Gregory here. This is some good news, sure enough." John's voice suddenly took on a deeper timbre of pleasure.

Cuddy aimed a swift kick at House's ankle as he opened his mouth to complain about them not having decided on the baby's surname yet. His pointed glare confirmed that she had made decent contact, and she realized that the decision had just been made. She was bringing Baby House, or perhaps Baby Cuddy-House into this world.

She was surprised that no mention of marriage came up. The three adults simply sat around the table discussing the generalities of having children until the time came for dessert.

Cuddy insisted on doing that alone, and so House returned to the table after the dinner dishes were put in to soak. He'd never done a chore so willingly in all the time she'd known him, and she vowed to invite his father over much more often if this was the reaction it got. They haven't worked out the details of who was living where just yet, but they had the luxury of time to think it over--five more months of it to be precise.

She lost herself for a moment, knife hovering over the banoffee pie she knew both men loved. Absent-mindedly, her free hand was drawn to the bump that was growing by the day. The sound of voices from the next room jolted her from her reverie, and she went to eavesdrop as she went about her business.

"You're happy about this son? After all that talk about not wanting kids, how only selfish jerks brought 'screaming brats' into the world? When I think how it broke your mother's heart to hear you talk that way…"

House felt his grip on the wine glass tighten at the accusation being leveled. Wanting to end the night without stitches, he very carefully and deliberately placed it back on the table.,

"It wasn't right before but I'm ready now. I want this. And don't bring Mom into it. She was always telling me that one day I'd change my mind, and she was right."

John House considered his son for a moment, a meeting of steady glares that would scare off most people. Not so Lisa Cuddy, who presented dessert without a second's hesitation. After all, she had taken staring contests and battles of will to Olympian levels herself.

Before too long the torment was over, and House was able to see his father to the door. Expecting one of their mercifully brief goodbyes, House was irritated as his father dawdled, kissing Cuddy on the cheek and complimenting her cooking as though he'd never eaten a meal before. The impatience traveled to the cane in House's hand, and the rhythmic tapping of it against the floor at last prompted his father into the doorway.

Out of the blue, John extended his hand and clasped his son's. Not the casual salute of his usual goodbye, but some warmth and human contact that caught House completely off-guard.

"I don't say this stuff too often, but I'm proud of you, son. I can't pretend to understand what goes on in that head of yours, but you've managed to find yourself a top-class woman. Just don't screw this up."

House could feel Cuddy hovering behind him, pretending not to listen. He found himself curiously unable to summon words, and had to settle for nodding solemnly at his father, returning the fierceness of his grip as best as he could through crushed fingers. When at last he found his voice, there was nothing much he could think of to say.

"Thanks. Don't be a stranger, okay?" His voice was weak, but he forced the trite words out anyway.

Sure, the compliment had been smothered in an avalanche of further criticism, but its very existence in the first place had House reeling. His father departed cheerfully enough, his gait a little uneven and his stride a little shorter these days.

House found himself staring at the empty hallway, not quite ready to turn around and go back to the real world just yet. Dreading questions from Cuddy, scared that the moment would shatter like the most fragile piece of glass if any mention of it was made.

He ought to give her more credit, really. If anyone knew how to handle the occasional fragility in his life, it was Cuddy.

Giving him a minute or two to compose himself, she waited calmly by the couch. When he did turn to face her, there was no inquisition, no picking over the words his father had spoken, but her eyes betrayed that she knew the significance of the moment.

She simply pressed a soft kiss to his welcoming lips, and held him to her for the briefest of moments. It was then he realized that they might actually make it, baby and all. And for once, a thought like that didn't scare the crap out of him.


End file.
